B    3    33^ 


EARTH  AND 
NEW  EARTH 


GALE  YOUNG  RICE 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 


EARTH   AND 
NEW  EARTH 

BY 

CALE  YOUNG  RICE 

AUTHOR  OF  "PORZIA,"  "AT  THE  WORLD'S  HEART,"   "FAR 

QUESTS,"  "YOLANDA  OF  CYPRUS,"  "COLLECTED 

PLAYS  AND  POEMS,"  etc. 


GARDEN  CITY  NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

MCMXVI 


All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of 

translation  into  foreign  languages, 

including  the  Scandinavian 

Copyright,  igi6,  by 
CALE  YOUNG  RICE 


To 
PRESIDENT  WOODROW  WILSON 

WHOSE  WISDOM  AND  PATIENCE  HAVE 
SO  NOBLY  SERVED  THE  IDEALS  OF 
HUMANITY  AND  WORLD-CITIZENSHIP 


343580 


PREFACE 

The  first  poem  in  this  volume  is  permitted 
to  stand  as  it  appeared  in  the  Century  Magazine 
soon  after  the  outbreak  of  the  War.  The  second 
but  re-expresses  such  sympathies  as  must  pave 
the  way  to  any  prospect  of  world-citizenship. 
The  third,  a  drama  in  one  act,  has  Militarism — 
here  "  early "  Prussian — as  its  abhorrence. 

Other  poems  touching  on  the  War  have  been 
placed  elsewhere  in  the  volume — which  needs  no 
further  comment,  unless  I  may  express  a  hope 
that  English  poetry,  so  often  hospitable  to  alien 
verse-forms,  may  also  adopt  that  of  the  Japanese 
hokkai — the  spirit  and  method  of  which  I  have 
sought  to  reveal,  in  examples  of  my  own,  under 
"  Poetic  Epigrams."  For  the  art  value  of  the 
hokkai — its  antagonism  to  the  obvious — is  a  quality 
which  all  true  literature  must  increasing  seek. 

GALE  YOUNG  RICE. 
Louisville,  Ky.,  Dec.,  1915. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

PREFACE vii 

PRINCIP 3 

EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 8 

GERHARD  or  RYLE 15 

THE  SHORE'S  SONG  TO  THE  SEA : 37 

THE  RUNAWAY 37 

THE  VERSION  OF  SIMON  THE  SADDUCEE 43 

THE  FAUN  REPENTS 49 

IN  THE  DEEP  MIDNIGHT 52 

CHURCH  BELLS  HEARD  IN  THE  COUNTRY 57 

SONGS  TO  A.  H.  R.: 

1.  SHELTER 61 

2.  DOMINIONS 62 

3.  ASSUAGEMENT 63 

4.  SECRESIES 64 

5.  ON  THE  BEACH 65 

6.  AT  THE  EBB-HOUR 66 

7.  THE  EDGE  OF  THE  HILL 67 

8.  ALL 68 

KING  SOLOMON  SINGS  OF  WOMEN 69 

THE  IMMORTAL 74 

VITA  MIRABILIS 75 

As  THE  TIDE  COMES  IN 78 

ix 


x  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  INQUEST , 80 

POETIC  EPIGRAMS      (After  the  fashion  of  the  Japanese.) 

1.  THE  FIRST  RAIN 82 

2.  MISTS 82 

3.  SEED-BALLS 83 

4.  IN  A  CEMETERY  AT  NIGHT 83 

5.  KINDRED 83 

6.  THE  LIGHTNING 84 

7.  FAITH 84 

8.  THE  AUTUMN  MOON 84 

9.  DRIPPINGS 85 

10.  THE  MARBLE  CHRIST 85 

11.  SCRIPT 85 

12.  AT  NIGHT 86 

13.  NOVEMBER  LEAVES 86 

14.  THE  CROWS 86 

15.  BY  ONE  JUST  DEAD 87 

16.  THE  FROST 87 

17.  LOST 87 

WINDS  OF  WAR: 

1.  To  THE  MASTERS  OF  EUROPE 88 

2.  IN  THE  TOILS 91 

3.  THE  DEAD  93 

4.  THE  PRAYERS  OF  THE  WARRING  NATIONS 95 

5.  GOD  OR  CHAOS  99 

FATHER  MERAN 105 

THE  NEW  PATRIOT 107 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  HOMESICK  GAEL 108 

A  DEVON  RIDE no 

A  SIDMOUTH  LAD i« 

WIDOWED "2 

THE  LARGER  Loss «3 

RE-RECKONING JI4 

LAST  LINES  OF  THE  POET  OF  SUMA "7 


CONTENTS  xi 

FACE 

ORIGINS 119 

THE  BRIDE    OF  OITA 120 

THE  IMMANENT  GOD 121 

OCEAN  OF  NIGHT 126 

HONGKONG  CITY  AT  NIGHT 127 

A  WIFE 129 

BEACONS I31 

THE  LIVING  BUDDHA 132 

FROM  A  NORTHERN  BEACH 135 

TREES  AND  GRASS 138 

ZEBI 140 

DURING  A  LONG  CALM 142 

EVENING  WATERS 144 

IN  A  PARK  PAVILION 145 

THE  FISHING 148 

ABEYANCE 149 

OLD  AGE  AND  AUTUMN 150 

A  LOVER,  REJECTED 152 

A  LITANY  FOR  LATTER-DAY  MYSTICS 153 

GOD,  TO  MEN iSS 

ULTIMATES *57 

ARMS..                          158 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 


PRINCIP 

(The  assassin  of  the  Archduke  Ferdinand) 

Look  at  him  there,  a  lad  of  nineteen  years, 
Slipping  along  the  street  with  Slavic  tread: 
A  moment,  and  from  out  his  pistol's  mouth 
Shall  leap  the  spark  to  set  a  world  in  flames. 
For  with  the  red  death  of  a  royal  duke 
The  infinite  tangle  of  a  continent 
Of  immemorially  warring  peoples 
Is  kindled,  and  thro  millions  of  calm  breasts 
The  old  race  hatred  runs.    Austria  reft, 
Knowing  the  shot  was  at  her  feudal  heart, 
Flashes  from  out  her  molten  indignation 
A  word  that  wakes  the  wild  Caucasian  urgence 
Of  Slavdom,  ever  swelling  toward  the  West. 
And  Evolution's  endless  tragedies — 
The  friction  fostered  by  uncounted  kings, 
The  ancient  war-cries  that  ring  still  in  the  blood 
3 


•>  -J 


4  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

With  timeless  memories  of  rape  and  slaughter, 

Inheritances,  bred  deep  in  the  bone, 

Of  battling  tongues  and  creeds  and  cruelties, 

Of  ruined  homes,  wrecked  loves,  and  razed  delights, 

These  and  a  thousand  scorns  and  dark  contempts 

And  hatreds,  heirlooms  of  long  ignorance, 

Flare  up  into  one  frenzied  thirst  for  war! 

Princip,  Princip,  lad  of  the  nineteen  years, 

Was  it  the  ringer  of  God  that  pulled  your  trigger 

And  loosed  the  avalanches  of  destruction 

With  a  blind  bullet  of  predestination? 

Was  it  of  God,  who  found  His  upward  way 

To  some  world-aim  thwarted  by  all  the  mesh 

And  fever  of  impenetrable  passions? 

A  hundred  times  within  one  haunted  week 

The  scales  of  Destiny  hung  even: 

Who  weighed  them  down  to  War?  was  it  our  God? 

Who  spoke  into  the  Teuton  veins  a  faith 

That  the  inexorable  hour  had  rung 

To  face  the  Russian  horror,  and,  at  last, 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  5 

By  letting  their  own  blood,  relieve  their  hearts 
Of  the  long  warward  strain  that  pride  and  fear 
And  pent  world-hunger  kept  so  peril-taut? 
Who  used  the  living  enmity  of  France, 
Bidding  her  stretch  an  oath  of  dark  allegiance 
Across  Germanic  borders  to  the  Slav, 
And  plight  a  fearful  or  revengeful  troth 
To  the  wild  Muscovite,  in  whose  vast  breast 
A  consciousness,  perchance,  of  low  estate 
Is  the  dim  whip  that  drives  him  west  to  freedom? 
And  England,  with  her  greed,  for  good  or  ill 
Girdled  about  the  globe,  and  with  her  pride 
And  dominance  of  empire  thundering 
From  ships  on  every  sea,  who  flung  her  heart, 
A-quest  for  peace,  yet  with  a  secret  sense 
That  now  her  dreaded  foe  might  be  struck  down — 
Who  flung  her  heart  upon  the  bloody  fields? 
Princip,  with  nineteen  years,  can  you  not  tell? 

Is  God  in  this?  or  was  His  Immanence 
Overwhelmed  by  atavistic  Nature's  surge 


6  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

Up  from  the  core  of  earth?     Are  East  and  West, 

From  Asia  to  young  Yukon,  swept  by  winds 

Of  war  into  this  crucible  of  time, 

To  emerge  after  long  fumes  of  pain  and  horror 

More  nearly  fused  to  one  humanity? 

Or  has  void  Chance,  on  which  was  builded  up 

The  babel  of  our  boasted  civilization, 

Betrayed  us  as  we  grasped  toward  the  stars? 

Can  He,  the  Alchemist  of  the  Universe, 

Pour  blood  and  burning  tears  and  misery 

And  waste  and  famine  out  upon  the  earth, 

Yet  in  a  year,  or  in  a  yoke  of  years, 

Transmute  them  into  human  betterment? 

Or  does  intemperable  fatality 

Strain  now  the  heart-strings  of  a  continent 

To  breaking,  and  its  mind  to  mad  unfaith? 

Princip,  God's  tool  or  Hell's,  can  you  not  tell? 

"Autocracies  shall  go  and  Armaments 

And  that  peace-murdering  trade,  Diplomacy!" 

Such  the  cry  is,  Princip.    And  shall  your  blow, 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  7 

Your  petty,  obsessed,  patriotistic  blow, 
The  last  of  the  innumerable  that  ages 
Have  struck  against  the  ancient  iron  gates 
Of  Tyranny — shall  yours  avail  at  last? 
Or  shall  steel  yet  intrench  the  happiness 
Of  nations,  not  far  mightier  common- weal? 
And  since  men  seize  at  last,  with  wan  clairvoyance, 
The  vision  of  a  World-State  shaping  dim 
Upon  the  horizon  of  their  misery, 
Is  it  mirage,  desert  delusion,  dream, 
Born  not  of  possibility  but  pain? 
Or  does  in  truth  the  misty  dome  arise, 
Already  shadowed  forth  by  their  desire, 
Of  a  World-Parliament's  protecting  peace, 
And  in  it  the  one  universal  right 
Of  HUMAN  WELFARE  graven  high,  to  guide 
Their  vast  deliberations — and  to  link 
At  last  with  brave  and  noble  assent  to  Law 
The  nations  bruted  now  by  bloody  Might? 
Princip,  with  nineteen  years,  can  you  not  tell? 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

Before  the  winds  of  War  awoke 

And  broke  with  raving  strife 
Over  a  world  that  lay  at  rest 

Under  a  calm  peace-life, 
I  sat  beside  a  shimmering  sea 

Whose  tides  around  me  rang, 
And,  gloriously,  to  Memory, 

My  fair  soul-mistress  sang: 

So  much  of  the  earth  I  have  loved,  dear  God,  so  much  of 

the  wondrous  earth, 

That  when  I  lie  beneath  its  sod  I  shall  not  feel  a  dearth 
Of  beauty  there,  or  of  joy  there,  of  marvellous  delights, 
Since  I  shall  bring  unto  its  breast  a  million  rapture 

sights. 

8 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  9 

For  I  have  gathered  its  glories  up,  from  my  own  low 

hearth-side 

To  where  Himalayas,  high  above  belief,  to  heaven  ride. 
There's  not  a  sea  but  has  lent  to  me  sunset,  moonrise,  or 

dawn, 
And  oh,  the  cities  of  men  that  thro  my  ardent  eyes  have 

gone. 

The  cities  of  men  I—fair  Honolulu,  by  her  irised  reefs, 
Where  younger  West  meets  older  East  in  dimly  blent 

beliefs, 
Till  each  can  read,  with  a  strange  heed,  the  vaster 

mysteries, 
That  out  of  human  hopes  have  sprung,  o'er  continents 

and  seas. 

Or  Yokohama,  with  Fuji  to  the  southward,  like  a  throne 
Some  Buddha  has  deserted  for  a  shrine  less  high  and  lone, 
And  where  a  folk,  long  under  the  yoke  of  isolation's 

dream, 
Rise  up  and  scatter  the  centuries,  at  a  new  vision's 

gleam. 


io  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

Or,  thro  pagoda-towering  gates  of  secret  -vague  Pekin, 
I've  seen  old  China  drifting  out,  new  China  surging  in. 
Stern  men  of  state  I  have  watched  await  at  a  Republic's 

womb 
To  learn  if  Freedom  yet  may  forth  be  brought,  to  lift 

their  doom. 

Then  India,  in  her  mystic  trance  of  deities  so  strange 
And  immemorial,  I  have  seen  half -tremble,  as  if  change 
Almost  had  come,  like  a  dim  drum  that  beat  across  her 

sea 
Of  resignation  to  this  life's  sad  unreality. 

Oh,  running  flame  of  a  new  desire!  Beside  the  pyramids 
I  have  beheld  it  sweep  the  eyes  of  men  who  lift  their  lids 
To  Mecca  or  to  Jerusalem,  or  to  no  shrine  beyond 
That  of  a  hope  Some  Help  will  bind  all  hearts  with  a 
sure  bond. 

Thro  Europe  I  have  beheld  it  run,  a  little  lonely  flame 
Of  brotherhood — or  wild  unrest,  with  many  an  anarch 
name. 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  n 

(f Let  us  be  one,  life's  every  son,  not  lord" — it  said — 

"nor  slave  ; 
But  men  with  an  equal  share  in  earth,  our  mother, 

which  God  gave  I " 

"Let  us  be  one!"     And  ever  the  land  I  love  above  all 

lands 
Has  swiftly  heard  the  immortal  word,  and  reached  her 

bounteous  hands 
To  every  man,  tho,  with  a  ban,  from  shores  accurst  he 

came, 
And  on  his  brow  has  stamped  anew  humanity' 's  great 

name. 

So  much  of  earth  I  have  loved,  dear  God,  so  much  of  the 

valiant  sphere 

That  bears  us  to  our  destiny,  on  wings  we  cannot  hear, 
So  much  of  earth  and  the  radiant  birth  upon  it  of  new 

dreams, 
That  sometimes  as  the  living  heart  within  Your  Breast 

it  seems. 


12  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

Thus  did  I  sing,  with  winds  a-ring 

Around  me.     Then  there  came 
Wild-footed  War,  running  amuck 

With  madness  none  could  tame, 
Among  the  nations  that  so  long 

Had  sought  for  brotherhood, 
And  that  now  in  their  frenzy  saw 

No  safety  save  in  blood. 

Then  sudden  the  spirit  of  all  love 

Was  lost,  all  hope  went  down; 
Within  a  wild  red  flood  of  hate 

I  saw  the  world's  soul  drown. 
And,  in  the  frothing  element, 

There  swam,  instead,  the  beast 
Man  was  and  is  and  shall  be  till 

He  takes  Law  for  his  priest. 

All  in  a  madness  was  it  done! 

And  memory — there  slain — 
Within  me  rotted  like  a  corpse 

That  in  the  sun  has  lain. 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  13 

Till  where  beauty  had  been  there  swarmed 

The  maggot  of  despair, 
Sending  its  stench  of  uselessness 

Into  my  soul's  sick  air. 

But  only  a  little  while  'twas  so, 

For  faith — I  know  not  why- 
Faith — tho  enfouled  by  crimes  of  fate — 

Comes  back  into  the  sky. 
Yes,  comes  again,  and  did — to  heal 

With  its  immortal  wind 
This  darkest  wrong  that  man  has  borne, 

Or  deed  that  he  has  sinned. 

And  so  I  sing  again,  dear  God:  So  much  of  the 

wondrous  earth 

I've  loved  that  when  I  lie  in  it  I  shall  not  feel  a  dearth 
Of  beauty  there,  or  of  joy  there,  of  marvellous  delights, 
Or  of  Thy  deep  divine  desire  to  set  all  grief  to  rights. 


GERHARD  OF  RYLE 


Saint  Francis,  Saint  Lutgarde, 

And  sweet  Saint  Margaret, 
Saint  Gertrude,  and  Ludwine, 

And  gentle  Saint  Colette, 
They  never  shed  the  heart-blood 

Of  bird,  man,  or  beast; 
And  a  warrior,  tho  great  on  earth, 

In  heaven  shall  be  least. 


CHARACTERS 

CONRAD     .      .      .     Militant  A  rchbishop  of  Cologne 
GERHARD  OF  RYLE   .   Architect  of  the  great  Cathedral 

GERDA His  wife 

URSULA A  girl,  their  servant 

RUPERT     .      .      .       A  Knight  in  Conrad's  Council 
SOLDIERS  OF  CONRAD 


GERHARD  OF  RYLE 

TIME. — Circa  1295  A.  D. 

SCENE. — The  chief  room  in  the  house  of  Gerhard, 
with  a  door  and  windows  opening  directly  on  the 
place  of  the  unfinished  Cathedral.  Its  walls  and 
ceiling  are  of  plaster  and  of  stained  oaken  beams, 
which  are  grotesquely  carved  about  a  massive  smoul 
dering  fireplace,  right. 

On  a  tall  rest  to  the  left  and  back  is  a  drawing  of 
the  Church's  sublime  faqade:  before  which  is  a  table 
with  architectural  implements  together  with  an  old 
sword.  Chairs  and  chests  also  are  visible;  and 
right  or  left,  doors  leading  to  the  kitchen  and  to  the 
bed-chambers.  Through  the  windows  a  portion  of  the 
Cathedral's  lofty  choir  stands  magical  in  the  moon 
light. 

19 


20  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

Gerhard,  in  dishevelled  dress,  is  yearningly  ab 
sorbed  in  his  drawings  by  the  rest.  Gerda  sits  to 
the  front  centre,  a  book  fallen  from  her,  and  with  sup 
pressed  hatred  of  her  surroundings  written  on  her 
face.  Ursula  enters,  as  if  habitually,  and  goes 
down  to  her. 

Ursula.    I  have  set  wine  and  herrings  on  the  table 
That  he  may  eat — the  master — when  he  will. 
The  candles,  too,  are  ready  and  the  bread 
And  water  against  the  morning. — Is  there  more? 
Gerda  (rising).     There  is  no  more. 

[Ursula  goes. 
But  ever  is  it  thus! 
Up  with  the  dawn 
For  this  housewifery 
Of  ordering  a  wan  wench  to  and  fro, 
And  then  of  bidding  her  to  bed,  where  she 
May  still  dream  of  her  kettles  and  her  kitchen, 
Of  broth  and  stew  and  pottage,  in  her  sleep. 

[Gerhard  turns,  she  continues. 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  21 

A  woman  is  a  hare  shut  in  a  warren, 
A  linnet  in  a  cage — when  she  is  wed  so. 

[He  rises. 

Night  after  night  this  dull  and  heavy  house 
In  which  you  toil  and  I  sit  tortured  by. 

Gerhard  (comes  down}.'   But  Gerda 

Gerda.  In  a  nunnery 

were  better. 

Your  tools  scrape  ever  there  upon  the  paper 
From  dusk  to  midnight, 
And  from  dawn  to  dusk 
You  are  away  amid  unwitted  workmen 
Gazing  with  love  on  every  stone  they  lay. 
But  I  bide  here — bide- 
In  want,  aye  in  want,  tho  nobly  born, 
Of  the  one  thing — the  merest  that  befits  me. 
Gerhard  (gently) .    Yet  well  do  you  know  why. 

It  is  because 
You  ask  me,  Gerda,  what  I  cannot  give. 

Gerda.    And  what,  in  giving  not,  are  less  a  man. 

[He  flushes. 


22  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

Yes,  less  than  are  these  larded  monks  about  us, 

Who  dare  take  arms,  tho  sworn  to  crucifixes. 

[He  controls  himself  and  goes  silently  back  to 
work.    A  pause. 

Gerda.    Well,  some  there  are  who 

Gerhard.  Yes,  many  who  find 

In  bloody  battles  all  their  heart's  desire. 
Gerda.    And  what  but  battles  saves  our  Father 
land? 

Gerhard.     Peace,  Gerda,  might. 
Gerda.  And  weaklings  without  swords? 

[When  he  does  not  answer. 
Am  I  to  live    ...    so     ...    when  there  are 

those 

With  whom  might  be  an  end  of  low-born  dull 
ness? 

[He  only  sighs. 

Would  Rupert  leave  me  to  this  weariness — 
Rupert  I  might  have  wedded  save  for  you? 
Am  I  a  burgher's  daughter,  chosen  but 
To  spin  the  flax 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  23 

And  potter  mid  the  pails, 
That  I  am  dealt  with  thus? 

Gerhard  (simply}.    You  are  my  wife. 

Gerda.    The  wife  of  master  Gerhard,  builder,  of 

Ryle! 

Who  left  a  castle  and  her  father's  care, 
A  banquet-board 
Where  in  the  evening  glow 
The  minnesingers  sang  contending  of  love, 
To  wed  a  paltry  dreamer !  and  who  soon 
No  doubt  will  come  contently  to  beguile 
Her  days — while  he  is  wrapped  away  or  lost 
In  his  cathedral  longings;  aye,  or  gone 
With  mall  and  measure  to  the  quarry-fields — 
In  driving  geese  to  market! 

Gerhard  (rising  again).     Can  you  speak  so? 

[Coming  down  and  pleading  tenderly. 
I  ask  not  anything  of  you  at  all — 
Save  that  you  be  to  me, 
As  first  you  seemed, 
The  sainted  inspiration  of  my  soul, 


24  .     EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

That  seeks  now  to  eternalize  in  stone, 

In  arches  that  shall  spring  like  seraph-pinions 

And  spires  piercing  to  sunward,  as  a  song, 

This  church — a  very  mitre  of  Christ  on  earth ! 

I  am  not  born  of  barons,  like  your  father, 

Or  of  a  race 

Of  prelates  like  this  bloody 

And     proud     Archbishop     who     commands    my 

toil. 

Why  to  your  scutcheoned  gates  I  one  day  came 
I  know  not — I  ennobled  but  by  dreams. 
And  what  led  you  to  abjure  the  difference 
Between  our  births  and  love  me  is  yet  darker; 
While  darkest  is  it  what  drew  you  to  follow 
My  steps  to  this  humility  and  loss. 
But  it  is  done,  Gerda,  and  we  are  wed, 
And  if  your  love  now  finds 
No  valour-heights  in  the  great  shrine  I  build 
To  hold  the  bones  of  the  Three  Holy  Kings 
Drawn  starrily  to  Christ  in  Bethlehem, 
One  thing  abides — the  love  I  gave  you  then. 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  25 

Gerda.     In  name,  but  not  in  truth  and  life  and 
passion. 

Gerhard.     Because  you  will  it  so. 

Gerda  (implacably).     Because  the  serf 
Who  is  my  husband  shuns  to  take  the  sword 
Of  knighthood  which  my  father  would  gird  on  him 
And  turn  from  doltish  tools. 

Gerhard.  To  daily  murder? 

And  plunder,  like  these  lords  who  ply  the  Rhine? 

[As  she  turns  on  him. 
No,  no,  I  mean  it  not — of  him,  your  father. 

[More  impassionedly. 
But  I  am  not  as  they!  and  what  I  here 
Am  building  is  a  greater  thing  to  God, 
Wherein  all  that  I  am  must  be  transfused 
Without  blood-guilt 
Or  any  sinfulness. 
And  you  can  aid  this  immortality, 
This  shrine  soaring  to  touch  infinitude — 
And  thro  whose  doors,  with  saints  and  martyrs  set, 
The  millions  of  this  German  land  shall  move, 


26  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

Past  jewelled  windows  where  fair  Paradise 
Shall  be  set  forth  in  colours  spread  supernal, 
To  mass  and  vespers  which  shall  purge  their  sin. 
You,  Gerda,  you  so  beautiful,  can  aid. 

Gerda.    Yes,  as  may  any  stone  with  which  you 

build: 
A  sacrifice 

Set  in  a  selfish  vision. 

But  I  will  not.    My  own  way  will  I  choose, 
And  it  shall  be— away  from  here. 

Gerhard  (now  realizing).  Away? 

Gerda  (seeing  him  torn  at  last). 
With  one  who  knows  the  sword's  nobility, 
And  who  will  build  me  love,  not  stony  churches; 
One  knowing  a  woman  is  flesh  as  well  as  spirit, 
And  that  beauty  is  earth's  as  well  as  heaven's. 

Gerhard.    And    he     ...     that    you  will  go 
with    .     .     .    will  be  Rupert? 

Gerda.    He  will  be  one  at  least  who  is  aware 
How  vainly  I  am  made    ...     a  mere  midwife 

[With  a  final  thrust. 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  27 

Unto  a  vision  that  is  moon-begotten, 
A  fancy  that  but  bats  and  owls  shall  finish — 
And  keep  to  worship  in. 
Gerhard    (soul-struck).    By   which    .     .     .    you 

mean    .     .     . 
That  to  my  shrine 
Some  evil- veering  wind 
Has  risen    .     .     .    which,  hearing,  you  have  kept 

from  me? 

Some  breath,  perchance, 
Of  Rupert's  poison  tongue? 
Rupert,  who  would  strike  God  out  of  this  land? 

[A  knock  without. 

Gerda.    Your    answer  stands   there   waiting   at 
the  door. 

[Goes  rigidly  off  as  he  moves  to  draw  the  latch. 
But  a  knock  of  more  violence  comes,  and, 
shuddering  back,  he  takes  up  the  sword  as  if 
fearing  treachery.  Then  quickly  opening  the 
door  he  finds  Conrad — with  several  cloaked 
forms  that  slip  back  into  the  shadow. 


28  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

Conrad  (with  amazed  irony  on  seeing  Gerhard's 

sword). 
By  every  nail  of  the  Cross,  what  mood  is  this? 

[Enters. 

My  holy  builder  bent  on  shedding  blood 
Like  any  baron  of  us?    My  believer 
In  peace  without  a  sword  set  upon  murder? 
His  tender  tools  forsook,  and  traceries? 

[Laughs. 

It  is  not  ill,  not  ill!     .     .     .     no;  as  I  live! 
Who   has   two   trades   need   never    lack    employ 
ment. 

[Comes  down. 

And,  sanctus,  I  am  minded!     .     .     .    It  will  lighten 
The  purpose  I  have  brought. 

Gerhard  (forebodingly).     Christ  save  my  soul. 

[Drops  the  sword  with  an  abhorrence  that  causes 

Conrad  to  flush. 

Conrad  (whom  a  pause  is  not  able  to  restrain). 
I  do  not  like  aversions,  Master  Gerhard. 
Within  this  land  I  am  priest-militant: 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  29 

Is  my  sword-bearing,  too,  an  infamy? 

[Finding  vantage  in  this. 
So  is  it  with  these  peace-fed  artisans. 
It  sickens  me; 
Till,  to  the  guts,  I  weary 
Of  this  unslaked  church-building. 
For     .     .     .     wherefore 
Should  I,  but  for  a  dead  man  in  his  coffin, 
Tho  he  was  called  my  father 
And  laid  on  me 

The  pledge  to  build  this  fane  up  to  the  stars, 
Spend  all  the  guilders  this  arch-diocese 
Can  gather — I,  engirt  by  fools  and  foes? 
Rupert  is  right! 

Gerhard  (trembling).     Rupert? 

Conrad.  I  will  cease. 

And  if  the  Kings  who  rode  to  Bethlehem 
Want  for  their  bones  a  shrine,  then  let  them  send 
To  my  electorate  peace, 
Or  to  my  coffers 
Mammon  enough  to  quell  my  enemies. 


30  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

Gerhard  (whom  a  deadly  pallor  has  stricken  still). 
You  have  come  here  to  say  the  mighty  fane 
Which  I  am  toiling  for  and  which  is  yet 
Not  half  to  heaven 

Conrad.  Must,  by  heaven,  stay  so; 

[Prepares  to  go. 
Tho  to  the  land  a  Devil's  Easter  come. 

Gerhard.    And  it  is  Rupert  who  persuades  you 
to  it, 

So  there  may  be  more  money  to  shed  blood? 

Too  deep  were  such  a  shame. 

Conrad  (aflare).  Master  Gerhard! 

Gerhard.    Master  am  I  of  naught,  save  of  my 

hope. 

High  over  me  is  your  authority 
And  over  all  the  thousands  of  this  land. 

[With  solemn  faith. 
But  this,  if  you  should  do 

Conrad  (in  wrath}.  Dragons  of  Hell! 

Am  I  to  drink  fool's  breath?    Is  this  a  Pope 
Of  very  Rome  to  question  my  decrees! 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  31 

Gerhard.    No,  but,  my  lord,  I  am  the  living  voice 

Of  those  unfinished  arches  that  arise 

Out  of  my  window, 

Under  the  pale  moon, 

To  point  toward  eternity  and  light. 

And  even  you 

Who  have  compelled  this  city 

And  all  the  land  about  beneath  your  yoke, 

Will  dare  not  do  this. 

Conrad.         Dare!    .    .    .    dare!    .     .     .    not 
dare! 

[Chokes. 

This  from  a  tool-bred  hireling!    .     .     .    Soul  of  God! 
Gerhard.    It  is  God's  soul,  that  cries  into  your  ears, 

[With  prof ound  faith. 

And  will  not  hush  for  mitre  or  for  crown 

Until  it  tells  you 

Who  have  ground  the  poor 

And  gathered  widows'  mites  to  waste  on  war — 

Heavily  on  the  people  hanging  chains 

Which  strangle  past  enduring — that  if  now 


32  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

Conrad  (ragingly).    May  I  go  down  to  Hell  and 

there  be  set 

The  task  of  flaming  damneti  souls  with  lust — 
As  one  has  flamed  your  wife,  upstarting  peasant — 

[Gerhard  cries  out. 
If  you  vent  more  of  this.     (Calls.)     Rupert!    In! 

[As  the  door  opens,  to  Rupert,  entering. 
This  knave  has  spoken  words  of  spotted  treason  ! 
Of  treason !     And  his  blood — if  in  so  pale 
A  thing  blood  be — shall  cool  in  prison  for  it. 

[With  worse  thoughts,  as  Gerda  enters. 
Or  no !     The  worm,  the  wan  church-chaffing  coward, 
Shall  see  scorn  of  him  even  from  his  wife. 
To — to  her!     Take  her  in  your  avid  arms, 
Unto  your  breast !    With  all  the  power  I  am 
I  give  her  you,  and  shrive  the  adultery. 
Rupert.      (Starts  toward  her).      Gerda! 
Gerhard.  Oh!     What  am  I  driven  to! 

Rupert   (who  pauses,  laughing,  as  Gerda  stands 

motionless.) 
To  seeing  now  what  love  and  passion  are! 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  33 

Appeaseless  passion — 

Not  for  a  carven  saint, 

Or  for  a  painted  angel  without  lips 

And  limbs  and  breasts  where  happy  kisses  hive, 

But  for  a  woman  full  of  sweet  response. 

[Again  starts  toward  her. 

Gerhard  (uncontrollably).    Not  Christ  upon  the 
very  Cross  bore  this. 

[He  springs  wildly  at  Rupert  and  seizes  his 
dagger.  A  struggle,  a  fall,  a  stab  ensue;  then 
silence.  Then  slowly  he  rises  with  horror  and 
staggers  back,  till  his  hand  striking  the  church- 
plan  tears  it  across.} 
Conrad  (who  runs  to  the  door,  now  with  redoubled 

wrath) . 
In,  in!    Ho,  in!    Murder!  murder! 

Enter  Soldiers  alarmed. 

Murder! 

A     Soldier    (dazed).     My    lord,    who?     (Looks 
around.)    How?     Sir  Rupert  dead?    Here? 


34  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

Conrad.    Take  him,  I  tell  you. 
Soldier   (confused).  Who,   my   lord?  and 

where? 

Conrad.    The  murderer  there  of  Ryle. 
Soldier  (amazed).  Gerhard  of  Ryle? 

[Gerhard  stands  staring  at  his  deed. 
Conrad.    He  who  will  shed  no  blood!  who  will 

not  fight 
In  battles,  but  who  dips  his  soul  in  murder! 

[The  soldiers  prepare  fetters. 
Gerhard  (stricken,  aghast,  with  his  eyes  still  fixed 

on  Rupert). 

The  curse  of  Cain!  the  crimson  curse  of  Cain! 
In  spite  of  all — at  last!    Its  guilt  upon 

The  glory  I  was  dreaming    .     .     .    O  upon 

[Sees  the  torn  plan. 

My  shrine (Moans.) 

Soldier.      What   shall  be   done    with  him,   my 

lord? 

Gerhard.    Each  stone  that  I  should  lift  would 
now  cry  out 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  35 

And  every  column  crumble  with  wet  blood. 

[Bewildered. 

Yet  I  was  set  apart  from  violence 
By  such  a  vision  as  no  man  e'er  had. 

[Again,  after  moans,  with  the  weariness  of  one 

lost. 

Accursed  be  my  hand  and  shrivelled  up, 
Accursed  all  the  weapons  of  the  world 
And  all  the  hate 
Whose  cruelty  has  shaped 
The  guilty  tools  of  rage  and  lust  and  ruin 
That  from  the  gates  of  Eden  to  this  hour 
Have  smitten  humankind  with  grief  and  death.  .  .  . 
And  oh,  accursed  be,  lord  of  Cologne, 
You,  in  whose  desecrated  heart  the  Dove 
Of  the  Holy  Spirit 
Ne  'er  has  beat  its  wings. 

[They  fetter  him. 

Do  with  me  now  according  to  your  will. 
Conrad    (in    whose    stark  face  the  soldiers   seek 
orders). 


36  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

Bear  him  up  to  a  scaffold  of  his  church 

And  let  him — happen  over.    If  he  lives 

The  Devil's  in  him.     If  he  dies  it  shall 

Be  held  the  Devil's  doing — and  not  mine. 

I  do  not  think  his  tainted  task  will  now 

Be  hurried  to  a  feverous  nnishment. 

[They  lead  Gerhard  out,  Gerda  still  standing 
motionless.  Conrad  with  a  glance  of  in- 
di/erence  at  her  follows.  Then  a  shudder 
passes  over  Gerda,  whose  eyes  are  on  the  door; 
and  as  one  against  her  will  she  slowly  moves 
toward  it.  When  there  she  trembles,  listens, 
and  then,  looking  up,  falls  back,  stricken,  from 
the  sight,  with  a  cry  of  horror.  At  the  same 
time  Ursula  enters  but  stops  frozen. 

CURTAIN 


THE  SHORE'S  SONG  TO  THE  SEA 

Out  on  the  rocks  primeval, 

The  grey  Maine  rocks  that  slant  and  break  to  the 

sea, 

With  the  bay  and  jumper  round  them, 
And  the  leagues  on  leagues  before  them, 
And  the  terns  and  gulls  wheeling  and.  crying,  wheel 
ing  and  crying  over, 
I  sat  heart-still  and  listened. 

And  first  I  could  only  hear  the  wind  in  my  ears, 
And  the  foam  trying  to  fill  the  high  rock-shallows. 
And  then,  over  the  wind,  over  the  whitely  blossom 
ing  foam, 

Low,  low,  like  a  lover's  song  beginning, 
I  heard  the  nuptial  pleading  of  the  old  shore, 
A  pleading  ever  occultly  growing  louder: 
37 


38  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

0  sea,  glad  bride  of  me  I 
Born  of  the  bright  ether  and  given  to  wed  me, 
Given  to  glance,  ever,  for  me,  and  gleam  and  dance  in 

the  sun, 

Come  to  my  arms,  come  to  my  reaching  arms, 
That  seem  so  still  and  unavailing  to  take  you,  and  hold 

you, 

Yet  never  for  get, 
Never  by  day  or  night, 
The  hymeneal  delights  of  your  embracings. 

Come,  for  the  moon,  my  rival,  shall  not  have  you; 
No,  for  tho  twice  daily  afar  he  beckons  and  you  go, 
You,  my  bride,  a  little  way  back  to  meet  him, 
As  if  he  once  had  been  your  lover,  he,  too,  and  again 

enspelled  you, 

Soon,  soon,  I  know  it  is  only  .feigning  I 
For  turning,  playfully  turning,  tidally  turning, 
You  rushfoamingly,  swiftly  back  to  my  arms  I 

And  so  would  I  have  you  rush;  so  rush  now  1 

Come  from  the  sands  where  you  have  stayed  o'erlong, 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  39 

Come  from  the  reefs  where  you  have  wandered  silent, 
For  ebbings  are  good,  the  restful  ebbings  of  love, 
But,  oh,  the  bridal  flowings  of  it  are  better  ! 
And  now  I  would  have  you  loose  again  my  tresses, 
My  locks  rough  and  weedy,  rough  and  brown   and 

brinily  tangled, 
But,  oh,  again  as  a  bridegroom's,  when  your  tide, 

whispering  in, 
Lifts  them  up,  pulsingly  up  with  kisses  ! 

Come  with  your  veil  thrown  back,  breaking  to  spray  I 

And  oh,  with  plangent  passion  / 

Come  with  your  naked  sweetness,  salt  and  wholesome,  to 
my  bosom, 

Let  not  a  cave  or  crevice  of  me  miss  you,  or  cranny, 

For,  oh,  the  nuptial  joy  you  float  into  me, 

The  cooling  ambient  clasp  of  you,  I  have  waited  over- 
long, 

And  I  need  to  know  again  its  marriage  meaning  ! 

For  I  think  it  is  not  alone  to  bring  forth  life,  that  I  mate 
you; 


40  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

More  than  life  is  the  beauty  of  life  with  love  ! 
Plentiful  are  the  children  that  you  bear  to  me,  the 

blossoms, 
The  fruits  and  all  the  creatures  at  your  breast  dewily 

fed, 

But  mating  is  troubled  with  a  far  higher  meaning — 
A  hint  of  a  consummation  for  all  things. 
Come  utterly  then, 
Utterly  to  me  come, 
And  let  us  surge  together,  clasped  close,  in  infinite 

union, 
Until  we  reach  a  transcendence  of  all  birth,  and  all 

dying, 

An  ecstasy  holding  the  universe  blended — 
Such  ecstasy  as  is  its  ultimate  Aim  ! 

So  sang  the  shore,  the  long  bay-scented  shore, 
Broken  by  many  an  isle,  many  an  inlet  bird-em 
bosomed, 

And  the  sea  gave  answer,  bridally,  tidally  turning, 
And  leapt,  radiant,  into  his  rocky  arms! 


THE  RUNAWAY 

What  are  you  doing,  little  day-moon, 

Over  the  April  hill? 
What  are  you  doing,  up  so  soon, 
Climbing  the  sky  with  silver  shoon? 
What  are  you  doing  at  half-past  noon, 

Slipping  along  so  still? 

Are  you  so  eager,  the  heights  unwon, 

That  you  cannot  wait, 
But,  unheeding  of  wind  and  sun, 
Out  of  your  nest  of  night  must  run, 
Up  where  the  day  is  far  from  done, 

Shy  little  shadow-mate? 
41 


42  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

Up  and  away  then — with  young  mists 

Tripping,  along  the  blue! 
Dance  and  dally  and  promise  trysts 
Unto  each  that  around  you  lists; 
For,  little  moon,  not  a  one  but  wists 

April's  the  time  to  woo! 


THE  VERSION  OF  SIMON  THE  SADDUCEE 

Scribes  and  priests,  hearken  to  me, 

Simon  am  I,  the  Sadducee, 

And,  in  spite  of  what  I  tell 

Of  a  dead  man  made  whole  and  well, 

I  say  there  is  neither  Heaven  nor  Hell. 

Thus  did  it  chance — and  only  so. 
I  was  coming  from  Jericho, 
And,  when  anear  to  Bethany, 
Had  crept  under  an  olive  tree, 
Weary  of  heat  and  the  Dead  Sea. 

And  as  I  rested,  nigh  asleep, 

I  heard  a  sudden  moan  sweep, 

And  looking  out  from  the  olive-gloom 

Bespread  over  a  near  hill  tomb, 

I  saw  a  surging  throng  loom. 

43 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 
And  out  of  the  throng  I  heard  a  cry, 
"Master,  why  did  you  let  him  die!" 
From  a  lone  woman's  grief  it  came — 
One  of  two  that  called  his  name — 
And  seemed  to  smite  his  heart  as  flame. 

For  tears  were  started  in  his  breast, 
Like  waters  from  a  fountain  prest. 
And  lo,  come  to  the  tomb,  he  said, 
In  words  that  with  sore  yearning  bled, 
"  Roll  the  stone  away  from  the  dead." 

And  swift  they  rolled  its  weight  away, 
As  you  have  heard  his  people  say. 
And  then  he  cried — I  swear,  thus — 
In  a  voice  flung  as  wind  thro  us, 
"I  bid  you  to  come  forth,  Lazarus." 

And  slowly  out  of  the  grave  there  came, 
Bound  about — like  one  who's  lame — 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  45 

With  clothes  at  the  feet,  and  face,  too, 
This  Lazarus — a  mere  Jew — 
Who  had  been  dead.    .    .    .    whole  days  thro! 

And  as  he  came  a  great  awe  fell — 
Seeming  to  fold  the  earth  as  well. 
Yet  if  the  hill  shook,  I  know  not: 
Tho  such  a  strength,  there  begot, 
Nigh  left  me  as  the  wife  of  Lot. 

But  soon  the  throng  cried  out,  "He  lives!" 
At  which  a  little  shiver  he  gives — 
Then  falls  down  at  the  Master's  feet. 
And  the  women  running,  glad  and  fleet, 
Took  from  him  the  winding-sheet. 

Then  was  rejoicing,  far  and  near, 
And  thronging  about,  his  tale  to  hear. 
Yet,  by  the  rod  of  Moses,  all 
Of  moment  still  was  to  befall! 
For  he  but  stood  there  in  his  pall. 


46  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

Till  some  at  last  cried,  "Master,  bid 
Him  tell  us  what  in  death  he  did. 
For  we  would  know  of  the  Abyss— 
Of  Sheol  coming  after  this— 
Whether  it  be  a  pain  or  bliss! " 

And  the  throng  pressed  closer,  closer  still, 
When  Lazarus  shook,  as  if  his  will 
Had  scarcely  yet  from  death  come  back. 
And  then  he  stood  there,  all  a-lack, 
Looking  as  one  upon  the  rack. 

But  stiU  the  throng  cried,  "Bid  him  speak!" 
Till  He  who  raised  the  dead  grew  weak, 
And  a  sweat  broke  out  upon  his  brow — 
A  sweat  of  faltering,  all  allow, 
Whether  to  bid  the  dead  avow. 

Yet,  louder  still,  "Yea,  let  us  know 
What  Heaven  is,  if  there  we  go; 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  47 

For  we  will  believe  what  man  hath  seen." 
They  cried  again:  and  he,  grown  lean, 
Turned  at  last  with  a  granting  mien. 

But  then  did  Lazarus  loose  his  lips, 
As  one  whom  a  great  loving  grips, 
And  said,  "Nay,  Lord,  send  them  away; 
To  you  alone  will  I  first  say 
What  I  have  seen  of  Heaven  this  day." 

So  He  unto  them  said,  "Stand  off: 
Have  I  not  shewn  ye  signs  enough?  " 
And  they  obeyed,  tho  lothfully, 
Murmuring  backward  from  the  tree, 
Where  those  two  stood  alone  with  me. 

Then  was  it  that  this  Healer  said, 
"Speak!"  and  hope  to  his  word  was  wed; 
Such  hope  as  never  hung  before 
At  the  tomb's  unrevealing  door. 
The  very  sun  stood  eager  o'er. 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 
And  Lazarus  stammered  forth,  "Dear  Lord, 
Shall  I  so  pierce  you  with  a  sword? 
In  the  four  days  of  my  death-gloom 
I  have  but  lain  as  in  a  womb: 
Emptiness  only  has  the  tomb!" 

And  he,  their  "Lord"  and  "Master"  called, 
Paled  to  his  heart,  as  if  appalled. 
But  only  a  space,  then  beauty  spread, 
Strange  as  the  power  that  raised  the  dead, 
Over  his  limbs  and  lit  his  head. 

And  then  He  gently  turned  away 
And  to  the  throng  I  heard  him  say, 
"Look  on  my  face  and  search  ye  out 
Whether  of  Heaven  ye  should  doubt!" 
And  all  cried  "Nay,  Lord,"  with  a  shout. 

So  I,  Simon,  the  Sadducee, 
Say  still  that  Heaven  nor  Hell  may  be. 
And  yet  if  thus  the  dead  arise 
Who  is  there  in  his  heart  denies 
That  in  this  man  a  Prophet  cries? 


THE  FAUN  REPENTS 

Spring  seized  me  in  the  wood, 

Made  of  me  a  satyr: 
Feet  hoofed  with  hardihood, 

Heart  a  passion-crater. 
Spring  seized  me  in  the  wood — 

Oh,  how  I  hate  her! 
For  the  nymph  I  love  came  by, 
With  a  green  wreath  at  her  thigh. 
"Were  she  Dian's  self,"  said  I, 

"Now  would  I  mate  her!" 

So,  lustily,  I  sprang 

Thro  the  leaves  and  took  her; 
Swept  her  with  kisses,  sang, 

No  least  word  would  brook  her. 

49 


50  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

And,  when,  within  the  shade, 

All  but  bliss  forsook  her, 
Up  with  a  remorseful  cry, 
Up  she  rose,  with  wreathen  thigh, 
Anger-pale,  and  fled:  then  I 

Knew  I  had  mistook  her. 

Now,  loveless,  do  I  go, 

Loveless — and  unmated. 
Shamed  by  all  nymphs  I  know, 

By  her  shunned  and  hated. 
Dance  they  amid  the  brake? 

My  arms  go  unsated ! 
Never  sylvan-girded  thigh 

Swift  against  me  glimmers  by. 
Ewe  1  how  sad  am  I, 

So  befooled  and  fated! 

Spring,  Spring  it  was  did  this, 
Spring  the  mad  exalter! 

Spring,  with  her  wanton  kiss, 
Fire  on  the  heart's  altar. 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  51 

Had  I  my  nymph  again 

I  would  never  palter 
With  such  passion:  no,  not  I, 
Tho  with  wanting  I  should  die! 
But,  sufficed,  would  let  no  sigh 

For  her  from  me  falter. 


IN  THE  DEEP  MIDNIGHT 


Clanging,  ever  clanging: 

Clanging  in  the  deep  midnight,  train-bells  clanging! 

Over  the  city  sleeping, 

Over  the  silent  huddle  of  roofs  and  shadows, 

Over  the  hearts  of  thousands,  lying  enchambered, 

breathing  evenly, 
Or  breathing  and  tossing,  to  and  fro,  on  torn  seas  of 

insomnia, 

Clanging  over  the  streets,  restless  clanging — 
Over  husht  streets,  with  blue  electric  lights  lone- 

somely  burning, 
Over  the  steepled  churches, 
The  shrines  dark  and  empty  save  for  the  voiceless 

souls  of  Bibles, 

52 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  53 

Over  the  wan  Hospital,  the  wards  where  the  sick  lie 

waking  a  little, 

And  where  they  moan  a  little,  not  knowing  why, 
Over  the  Jail  where  the  guilty,  too,  wake  and  stir  in 

their  ward, 
And  where  they  start,  with  waging  blood,  and  moan 

and  beat  at  their  bars, 

Because  for  them  there  is  neither  home  nor  high 
way, 

Over  that  other  prison,  where  the  dead  lie, 
But  wake  not  at  all,  nor  struggle,  nor  beat  at  their 

bars! 
Ever,  ever  clanging! 


O  voiceful  restlessness! 

Vibrant  soul  of  the  world's  coming  and  going, 

Resonant  want  of  it,  restive  vent  of  it,  and  of  desire, 

desire — 

Desire  to  wander  back  to  the  peace  of  the  known, 
Or  out  and  away  to  the  anywhere  of  deliverance — 


54  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

How  many,  a-dream,  are  caught  in  the  net  of  your 

ringing! 
How  many  turn  in  their  sleep  and  are  caught  away 

to  the  sea's  roaring, 
Are  caught  away    .     .    .     over  corn  tossing,  and 

woods  waving,  and  rivers, 

Past  the  red-lit  or  the  green-lit  stations,  clanging, 
Away  to  the  dark  of  the  East  or  the  dark  of  the  West! 
How  many  remember,  far  from  mother  or  wife, 
And  wonder  if  there  is  waking,  if  there  is  waiting, 
If  there  are  tears  falling  for  them  in  the  darkness! 
How  many,  under  your  quaver,  under  your  clamor 

and  evocation, 

See  sudden  again  the  far-a-ways  of  childhood, 
Brought  forth  from  the  shadowy  bournes  of  years 

and  grief  and  blind  forgetting, 
To  merge  again  in  the  mists  of  sleep's  immuning! 
How  many,  under  your  riot,  under  your  plangence, 

under  your  passion, 
Ride  again  over   cattle-wilds,  again   over   buttes 

and  mesas, 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  55 

Unlassoed  still  by  Life,  lords  of  its  spaces,  of  its 

pastures ! 

How  many,  mated  with  sin,  disease  and  stagnance, 
In  dens,  moonless  and  loveless,  where  the  free  sweet 

winds  would  sicken, 

Feel,  as  they  hear,  the  nails  of  their  souls'  coffin, 
Driven,  driven,  driven,  driven  in! 


m 


It  passes,  as  all  passes;  there  is  silence. 

The  huddled  roofs  dream  again  in  the  shadows, 

With  the  blue  electric  lights  lonesomely  burning,  the 

streets  unbroken, 

Night's  immemorial  opiate  rules  all. 
And  the  stars  come  closer,  beaten  off  no  more  by  the 

sound's  urgence, 
Intimate  now,  and  ready  with   revelations,   with 

Teachings, 
For  the  sky  has  become  the  confessional  of  God, 


S6  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

And,  Priest  of  the  Universe,  He  hears  its  need — and 

shrives  it — 

Till  all  the  crying  that  was,  now  is  comfort, 
All  want  that  was  is  peace  .    .    .    all  clanging  rest! 


CHURCH  BELLS  HEARD  IN  THE  COUNTRY 

Soft  to  my  ear 
The  Sunday  bells 
Come  on  the  wind 
Like  whilom  spells 
That  long  have  lost 
Their  pristine  charm 
To  do  my  spirit  help  or  harm. 

And  yet  they  haunt  me 
With  a  thought 
Of  years  when  faith 
Came  all  unsought; 
When  youth  was  truth — 
And  nothing  more 
Did  I  demand,  God  to  adore. 
57 


58  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

No  marvel  more. 
For  what  had  I 
To  do  with  doubt, 
Having  the  sky. 
Or  why  once  pause 
To  ask  or  think, 
Having  the  whole  wide  world  to  drink: 

The  world  within 
Whose  cup  was  love — 
A  quaff  of  which 
All  things  could  prove; 
Or  make  all  questions 
Of  no  worth, 
Letting  them  never  come  to  birth. 

Yes,  in  the  sound, 
Then,  of  the  bells 
No  world- wide  woes 
I  heard,  or  knells. 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  59 

Infinitudes 
Of  grief  and  wrong 
Were  yet  dissolved  within  their  song. 


For  Spring  and  love 
And  a  girl's  face 
Can  give  God  being 
Thro  all  space. 
Spring,  love,  and  joy 
In  a  lad's  soul 
Can  make  all  rifts  in  heaven  whole. 


And  yet  the  years 
That  broke  the  spell 
Of  Deity 
Within  a  bell, 
And  made  me  ask, 
Thro  storms  of  thought, 
Whether  the  world  is  God-enwrought; 


60  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

That  made  me  probe 
Sin  and  despair 
To  see  if  faith 
Can  find  Him  there; 
Are  years  yet  nobler, 
For,  truth  now 
Is  more  than  youth — is  Life,  somehow. 


SONGS  TO  A.  H.  R. 


SHELTER 

I  have  been  out  where  the  winds  are, 

And  tossing  tops  of  trees, 
And  clouds  that  sweep  from  rim  to  rim 

Of  blue  infinities. 
And  all  was  a  sound  and  sway  there,  a  surging  of 

unrest: 

So  now  I  am  wanting  silence,  and  the  heart  I  love 
best. 

Yes,  and  a  quiet  book,  too, 

Of  pensive  poetry, 
In  which  to  let  the  lines  lapse 

Away,  unlessonedly. 

For  I  shall  gather,  somehow,  from  the  soft  fire's  glow, 
And  from  the  eyes  I  love  best,  all  I  need  to  know. 
61 


62  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

And  hours  shall  slip  to  embers, 

And  on  the  hearth  lie; 
And  every  wind  that  blew  me, 

And  every  want,  die. 
Then  I  shall  take  the  hand  I  love  best,  and  turn  to 

sleep. 

And,  if  God  wills,  at  dawn  wake,  again,  to  laugh  or 
weep. 


DOMINIONS 

Death  is  as  strong  as  the  sea  is, 

But  when  I  lift  my  eyes 
To  yours  I  know  there  is  born  there 

A  light  to  outlive  the  skies. 
Death  is  as  wide  as  the  sea  is, 

Yet  at  your  least  love-call 
I  know  that  death's  vastity  is 
Not  all. 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  63 

Death  is  as  dark  as  the  tide  is, 

But  when  I  see  you  move 
I  know  that  the  highmost  star  there 

Is  guided  in  its  groove. 
Death  is  as  dread  as  the  tide  is, 

But  while  your  heart  is  in  mine 
I'll  trust  that  all  else  beside  is 
Divine. 


ra 


ASSUAGEMENT 

How  close  to-night  the  whippoorwill 

Calls,  as  the  stars  come  out; 
And  then  how  like  a  far  echo — shrill 

No  more,  but  a  dream-shout. 
How  softly  there  does  the  Infinite 

Lift  up  the  silver  moon, 
And  then  how  silently  He  sets 

Our  care-sick  hearts  in  tune. 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

How  soothingly  does  the  night-wind  sigh, 

And  ease  the  earth  to  sleep. 
How  fugitive  is  the  cricket's  cry, 

But,  oh,  with  life  how  deep. 
How  vastly  stretches  the  universe, 

How  lone  and  how  aloof, 
Until  our  hands  touch — then  it  seems 

But  love's  star-builded  roof. 


IV 


SECRESIES 

What  is  between  my  heart  and  the  moon 

To  you  alone  I  tell, 
In  words  soft  as  the  trembling  tone 

That  comes  from  the  far  buoy-bell. 
What  is  between  my  heart  and  the  sea 

Can  ne'er  be  told,  or  writ, 
Because,  like  this  my  love  for  you, 

Its  strength  seems  infinite. 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  65 

What  is  between  my  heart  and  the  stars 

You  need  but  ask  to  learn, 
For  all  my  clustered  thoughts  of  you 

Like  them  with  beauty  burn. 
What  is  between  my  heart  and  the  deeps 

Of  death  could  be  confessed 
Only  when  I  have  clasped  you  there 

Again  unto  my  breast. 


ON  THE  BEACH 

The  long  coast  curves  and  the  cliffs  rise  up, 

Red  and  white  and  green, 
The  surf  slips  in  with  a  sucking  din 

Of  shingle-wash  between. 
The  light  gulls  float  with  their  crimson  bills 

Set  seaward — not  one  cries: 
And  we  are  alone,  alone  with  them, 

Under  the  aimless  skies. 


66  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

The  tide  slips  in,  of  the  moon  released, 

Its  rhythm  gives  us  rest, 
And  in  its  pause  there  are  hid  sweet  awes 

That  sink  into  the  breast 
With  silent  soothing — till  the  coast 

Is  lost  in  mystic  gloam, 
And  till  deep  in  my  dreams  I  hear 

Your  voice  that  calls  me  home. 


VI 


AT  THE  EBB-HOUR 

As  I  hear,  thro  the  midnight  sighing, 
The  low  ebb-tide  withdrawn, 

And  gulls  on  the  dark  cliff  crying 
For  far  discernless  dawn, 

It  seems  that  all  life  is  lying 
Within  your  every  breath, 

Yet  I  can  not  believe  in  dying, 
Or  death. 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  67 

As  I  hear,  from  the  gray  church  tower, 

The  bell's  unfailing  sound 
Peal  forth  hour  after  hour 

To  night's  lone  reaches  round, 
It  seems  as  if  Time's  wan  power 
Would  sear  all  things  apace — 
All,  save  in  my  heart  one  flower, 
Your  face. 


vn 


THE  EDGE  OF  THE  HILL 

If  we  walked  over  the  edge  of  the  hill 

And  on,  should  we  reach  the  moon? 
Silver  it  lies  in  the  twilit  skies 

Just  over  the  trees  that  croon 
With  the  trembling  breeze  and  the  softened  pleas 

Of  the  whippoorwilFs  lone  cry. 
If  we  walked  over  the  edge  of  the  hill 
And  reached  the  moon,  would  the  wefts  of  ill 

Fade  there,  from  love,  and  die? 


68  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

If  we  walked  over  the  edge  of  the  hill 

And  on,  should  we  reach  the  stars? 
And  God  at  the  end,  our  final  friend 

In  all  time's  troublous  wars? 
And  then,  at  last,  with  the  world  far  past, 

Should  we  be  satisfied? 
Or  long  again  for  the  edge  of  the  hill 
And  love,  so  frailly  human  still, 

And  hopes  that  ne'er  abide? 

vin 
ALL 

All  of  Spring  in  a  bird's  song, 
Of  Summer  in  a  rose, 

Of  Autumn  in  one  fallen  leaf: 
So  the  world  goes. 

So  forever  it  goes,  dear, 
And  so  within  one  breast 

I  find  my  all  of  earth- joy, 
And  ease  for  unrest. 


KING  SOLOMON  SINGS  OF  WOMEN 

I  have  been  lord  and  spouse  to  many  women, 
And  sipped  the  honey  of  their  lips  and  hair, 
And  found  that  in  the  end  distaste  was  there, 

Whether  their  beauty  was  of  Jah  or  Rimmon. 

Queens  have  I  taken  out  of  Set  or  Sheba, 
And  little  handmaids  with  awestricken  breath, 
And  breasted  priestesses  of  Ashtoreth 

Prouder  than  daughters  of  the  kings  of  Reba. 

And  with  them  I  have  walked  amid  the  vineyards, 
And  plucked  the  grape  and  poured  the  purple  wine, 
And  listened  as  they  swore  their  hearts  were  mine; 

And  knew  their  hearts  were  wanton  weedy  sin-yards. 
69 


70  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

Or  I  have  dallied  with  them  in  the  palace, 

To  plash  of  fountains  in  the  pallid  night. 

Framed  have  I  ever  found  them  for  delight, 
But  the  souls  of  them  dark  as  lairs  of  malice. 


A  thousand  have  I  led  in  fair  betrothal, 

Berobed  and  ankleted  and  lapped  in  myrrh. 
Yet  not  unsoothly  have  the  priests  of  Hur 

Assailed  my  house  as  but  a  bridal  brothel. 


For  love  is  the  anointing  oil  of  passion, 
And  no  king  can  a  thousand  times  be  crowned. 
So  in  false  oils  have  I  too  oft  been  drowned; 

Or,  loving  not,  have  sinned,  too,  in  my  fashion. 


Better  it  were  that  I  had  found  one  maiden 
Clothed  in  a  thousand  veils  of  chastity 
Than  maids  a  thousand  that  all  eyes  could  see 

Were  ready  with  my  king's  lust  to  be  laden. 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  71 

Better  it  were  that  I  had  sought  for  beauty 

Wedded  to  wisdom  in  one  breast  and  face. 

For  man,  with  such,  can  rind  a  dwelling-place: 
'Twixt  many  all  his  soul  is  tossed  as  booty. 


For  there  is  cavil  ever  at  his  curtain 
And  flesh-temptation  ever  in  his  sight. 
By  harlotry  his  strength  is  shorn  each  night. 

Of  but  remorseful  morrows  is  he  certain. 


Better  it  were  some  Ruth  had  crept  all  fearless 
Into  the  threshing-floor  of  this,  my  heart- 
Where  chaff  and  grain  seem  never  kept  apart. 

Had  it  been  so,  my  pillow  now  were  tearless. 


And  such  an  one,  among  the  luring  many, 
I  can  remember,  tall  and  straight  and  calm, 
As  rich  in  promised  fruitage  as  the  palm, 

One  to  compare  in  wisdom- ways  with  any. 


72  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

But  to  my  chamber  never  with  enticing 

Came  she — and  should  I  call  her,  I,  the  King? 

On  such  a  wisp  of  vanity  we  swing 
Away  all  that  is  sure  for  life's  sufficing. 

Now  she  is  gone:  nor  know  I  how  or  whither. 

But  oft  till  day  breaks  and  the  shadows  flee 

I  long  to  have  her  gaze  again  at  me, 
Like  the  young  roe  upon  the  mounts  of  Bether. 

And  thro  the  harem  aimlessly  I  wander, 

With  loathing  sense  and  soul  no  beauties  please. 

Better  a  hive  of  stinging  sterile  bees, 
Or  a  housetop  on  which  alone  to  ponder. 

For  e'er  the  childless  and  the  childed  clamour 
Each  after  gifts,  up  to  the  kingdom's  crown. 
And  Pharaoh's   daughter   hears — wherefore   the 
frown 

Of  Egypt  from  her  brow  must  I  enamour. 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  73 

Sick  am  I  of  their  glances  and  embraces, 

Sad  am  I  of  their  bickerings  and  strife. 

A  thousand  wives  have  I — and  yet  no  wife, 
A  thousand  hills,  yet  no  heart-sheltered  places. 

Wherefore  I  say,  Women  are  as  pomegranates, 
Tempting  our  taste  that  we  may  spread  their  seed 
Over  the  earth:  as  at  creation's  need 

God  scattered  o'er  the  sky  His  teeming  planets. 

Or  that  as  aloes  are  they,  fair  and  fragrant 
At  first,  but  ah,  how  bitter  at  the  end. 
Adam  would  be  in  Eden,  and  God's  friend, 

Had  Eve  not,  at  the  Serpent's  touch,  turned  vagrant. 

There  is  a  spreading  tree  that  men  call  elah. 
Would  I  could  lie  beneath  it  with  that  one 
Whose  heart  would  be  as  moon  after  the  sun. 

Instead  comes  night — and  Pharaoh's  daughter.  Selah . 


THE  IMMORTAL 

Spring  has  come  up  from  the  South  again, 

With  soft  mists  in  her  hair, 
And  a  warm  wind  in  her  mouth  again, 

And  budding  everywhere. 
Spring  has  come  up  from  the  South  again, 

And  her  skies  are  azure  fire, 
And  around  her  is  the  awakening 

Of  all  the  world's  desire. 

Spring  has  come  up  from  the  South  again, 

And  dreams  are  in  her  eyes, 
And  music  is  in  her  mouth  again 

Of  love,  the  never-wise. 
Spring  has  come  up  from  the  South  again, 

And  bird  and  flower  and  bee 
Know  that  she  is  their  life  and  joy — 

And  immortality! 

74 


VITA  MIRABILIS 

I  watched  a  little  pulse  beat  in  my  wrist, 
A  slender  throb  almost  invisible, 
And  said :  This  thin  small  tide  is  richly  full 
Of  all  the  world,  and  while  it  so  keeps  tryst 
I  shall  not  want  for  earth  and  sea  and  stars, 
For  the  wide  wonders  of  the  infinite; 
I  can  look  thro  a  glass  at  atom-wars, 
Or  to  far  worlds  in  the  faint  ether  lit. 
I  can  list  woodland  litany  of  brooks, 
See  Spring  bring  up  the  flowers  magicly 
And  fill  them,  in  the  long  sun-scented  hours, 
With  all  the  honeyed  business  of  the  bee. 
I  can  see  on  the  hot  horizon's  rim 
Clouds  built  by  genii  of  the  coming  storm 
From  whose  high  bright  sierras,  far  and  dim, 
Fall  the  swift  floods  for  summer's  help  or  harm. 
And,  out  with  Autumn  and  the  flying  leaves, 
75 


76  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

Or  with  gray  winds  of  winter  icy-tressed, 
I  can  behold  how  earth  when  weary  weaves 
The  raiment  of  her  sleep  and  lies  to  rest. 

Yes,  while  this  little  tide  shall  ebb  and  flow, 

From  heart  of  me  to  heart  of  me  again, 

I  can  hear  all  the  wild  seas  tell  their  woe 

To  all  the  wilder  swaying  souls  of  men. 

Waves  that  have  wintered  in  gray  polar  zones, 

Or  waves  that  lap  palm-fronded  tropic  isles, 

Where  lotos  beauty  soon,  how  soon,  atones 

For  all  the  dearth  of  hope's  sad-stricken  smiles, 

I  can  descry;  and  oh,  what  marvels  more, 

Of  mountains  in  their  snowy  mitres  rising, 

Of  cities  in  mist- surplices  set  o'er 

Pale  sacred  banks  of  rivers — or  surprising 

The  sky  with  their  high-stabbing  strength  and  pride. 

And  deserts  I  can  gaze  on,  stretching  wide 

With  prescience  of  earth's  universal  death — 

Deserts  whereon  no  living  thing  draws  breath — 

Dun  deserts;  and  how  many  things  besidel 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  77 

How  many,  ah!  while  beating,  beating,  beating, 
Along  my  wrist  this  little  stream  is  sent. 
How  many  things  swift-taken  from  the  fleeting 
Of  day  and  night,  and  in  its  red  vein  pent. 
The  restive  generations  of  the  world 
That  rise  and  pass,  the  tragedies  of  nations, 
To-day  at  peace,  to-morrow  blindly  hurled 
Into  war-hurricanes  and  conflagrations; 
The  bravery  of  millions  deathward  bound, 
The  sorrowing  of  millions  who  survive; 
The  music  of  humanity  near  drowned, 
Yet  by  faith's  ceaseless  ringers  kept  alive: 
These,  and  how  many  more,  of  fear  or  love, 
Amid  life's  fury  or  afar  from  it! 
How  many  that  must  wound  great  God  above, 
Ere  they  are  flung  into  oblivion's  pit. 
These  can  be  mine,  to  thrill  me  or  to  grieve 
Until  a  day  when  in  my  wasted  wrist 
This  little  tide  shall  fail  to  keep  its  tryst, 
And,  ebbing,  but  the  worm  and  mystery  leave. 


AS  THE  TIDE  COMES  IN 

The  long-winged  terns  dart  wild  and  dive, 

As  the  tide  comes  tumbling  in. 
The  calm  rock-pools  grow  all  alive, 

With  the  tide  tumbling  in. 
The  crab  that  under  the  brown  weed  creeps, 
And  the  snail  who  lies  in  his  house  and  sleeps, 
Awake  and  stir,  as  the  plunging  sweeps 

Of  the  tide  come  tumbling  in. 


The  driftwood  swishes  along  the  sand, 
As  the  tide  comes  tumbling  in. 

With  wreck  and  wrack  from  many  a  land, 
On  the  tide,  tumbling  in. 
78 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  t  79 

About  my  feet  are  a  broken  spar, 
A  pale  anemone's  torn  sea-star 
And  scattered  scum  of  the  waves'  old  war, 
As  the  tide  comes  tumbling  in. 

And,  oh,  there  is  a  stir  at  the  heart  of  me, 

As  the  tide  comes  tumbling  in. 
All  life  once  more  is  a  part  of  me, 

As  the  tide  tumbles  in. 
New  hopes  awaken  beneath  despair 
And  thoughts  slip  free  of  the  sloth  of  care, 
While  beauty  and  love  are  everywhere — 
As  the  tide  comes  tumbling  in. 


THE  INQUEST 

(As  a  Lover  sees  it) 

Up  with  her,  do,  out  of  her  bed, 
Let  her  not  rest,  tho  she  is  dead. 
Dig  and  pick  at  her,  spade  and  shovel, 
Till  you  have  reached  her  coffin-hovel: 
Then  with  prying  and  probe  and  test 
Hold  your  foul  long-faced  inquest. 


See  if  she  died  of  a  hole  in  her  skull 

Or  of  a  brain  flushed  overfull 

Of  fetid  days;  till  she  was  weary 

Of  bearing  breath  grown  mortal  dreary. 

See  if  her  murderer  was  Life — 

Or  her  own  hand,  sick  of  the  strife. 
80 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  81 

Of  her  own  hand,  I  say;  or,  fools! 
Mine,  if  it  be  your  itch  so  rules. 
See  if  forsooth  a  blow  did  shatter 
Her  world — where  nothing  more  could  matter — 
Or  if  it's  meet  to  set  the  crime 
Down  once  more  to  the  score  of  Tune. 


See — see  to  it!  strip  her  of  rest, 
Even  within  the  cold  earth's  breast. 
Then,  at  last,  when  query  is  sated, 
Sit  for  a  smoke,  an  hour  belated; 
For  there  is  naught  you  need  regret— 
You    .    .    .    with  your  live  women,  yet. 


POETIC  EPIGRAMS 

(After  the  fashion  of  the  Japanese) 

i 

THE  FIRST  RAIN 

The  first  rain  on  the  grave 
Of  him  I  loved    .     .     . 
Soon  the  first  grass  will  wave. 


MISTS 

The  mists  enfold  the  trees, 
Lest  the  new  buds 
That  came  last  night  should  freeze. 
82 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  83 

3 

SEEI>-BALLS 

From  each  pale  sycamore 

Seed-balls  are  flung— 

To  shade  how  many  a  door. 


IN  A  CEMETERY  AT  NIGHT 

Is  it  ghost-dreams  that  rise 
Up  from  each  grave — 
Or  only  the  fire-flies? 

5 

KINDRED 

The  butterfly  and  flower 

Surely  were  made 

By  earth  in  the  same  hour. 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

6 
THE  LIGHTNING 

The  lightning  seems  a  tongue, 

Mad  with  the  heat, 

The  summer  has  outflung. 

7 

FAITH 

When  in  the  wind  they  shake, 

The  flower-bells, 

All  hearts  to  worship  wake. 


8 


THE  AUTUMN  MOON 

Long  since  the  moon  has  found 

Nirvana's  calm, 

In  her  desireless  round. 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  85 

9 
DRIPPINGS 

The  gutter  drips  and  drips 

As  thro  my  heart 

An  age  of  sadness  slips. 

10 

THE  MARBLE  CHRIST 

That  Christ  upon  a  tomb, 

How  lonely  there 

He  looks  in  the  night-gloom. 

ii 

SCRIPT 

No  word  the  wild  geese  cry, 

But  only  write 

In  silence  on  the  sky. 


86  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

12 
AT  NIGHT 

The  wind  seems  like  a  prayer 
Of  earth  to  God, 
Unanswered  everywhere. 

13 

NOVEMBER  LEAVES 

In  the  least  leaf  of  all 
Death  takes,  I  hear 
The  universes  fall. 

14 

THE    CROWS 

All  day  the  prescient  crows 
Have  picked  the  fields    .     . 
And  now  how  fast  it  snows ! 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  87 

15 
BY   ONE   JUST  DEAD 

Tho  but  an  hour  has  sped 

He  is  as  dumb 

As  one  ten  aeons  dead. 

16 

THE  FROST 

How  flowerlike  the  frost! 

Can  winter  be 

Creative  Summer's  ghost? 

18 

LOST 

The  wild  duck  finds  her  way 

Even  at  night: 

Yet  I  cannot  by  day. 


WINDS  OF  WAR 

(England,  July  and  August,  1914) 

I 

TO  THE  MASTERS  OF  EUROPE 

(When  the  first  war-clouds  arose) 


To  you,  O  rulers,  who  in  this  mad  hour 

Still  cling  unto  Alliance  or  Entente, 

And  urged  by  ghastly  "Honour"  soon  will  daunt 
Innocent  millions  with  death's  awful  power; 
To  you,  high  masters,  who  will  not  betray 

Your  oaths  that  are  a  crime  against  the  world, 

Though  now  you  see  the  flag  of  Hell  unfurled 
In  the  wild  hands  of  War,  to  you  I  say: 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  89 

Who  gave  you  right  to  pledge  your  people's  blood, 

Or  pawn  their  souls  to  serve  an  Ally's  sin? 

Or  having  pledged  peace  down  to  let  rush  in 
From  land  to  stricken  land  red  slaughter's  flood? 

Who  gave  it,  who?    Your  god  of  Self-Defence? 

A  lie !    Pride  is  your  lord,  and  Insolence ! 


You  have  built  ships  and  armies  with  the  bread 
That  should  have  driven  hunger  from  the  land; 
You  have  mined  seas  and  armed  the  mountains — 
grand 

In  all;  till  lo,  pausing  to  gaze  ahead, 

And  seeing  there  the  equal  legions  ride 
Of  foes  who,  too,  are  forward  for  defence, 
Fear  seizes  you,  a  sudden  terror's  sense 

Of  dwelling  calm  such  awful  might  beside. 

So  in  a  panic  moment  "War!"  you  cry, 
And  cataclysmic  war  almost  is  come; 
There's  heard  the  beating  of  destruction's  drum— 


9o  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

Which  you  alone  may  stay,  who  sit  on  high. 
So  rise  and  break  the  treaties  you  have  sworn, 
Lest  faithful  you  may  bring  all  faith  to  scorn. 


Arise  and  break  them,  then  count  naught  a  crime 
Or  cowardice  but  holding  all  dispute, 
Of  peril  to  the  millions  whom  you  loot, 

From  arbitration's  fiat  for  all  time. 

For  no  more  by  the  bloody  lips  of  War 
Is  justice  spoken;  nor  from  starving  lands 
Is  true  gain  gotten  by  its  ghoulish  hands, 

Or  manhood  by  its  desolating  mar. 

But  training  thus  your  dark  death-dealing  hate, 
Foe  against  foe,  with  awful  enginry, 
Shall  slay  the  angel  of  humanity, 

Whose  wings  at  last  were  leaning  to  earth's  gate. 
So  rise,  or  you  shall  ever  be  accurst 
As  of  all  godless  murderers  the  worst. 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  91 

n 

IN  THE  TOILS 

(London  during  the  Crisis) 

I 

THE  FUSE 

A  Murder,  an  Ultimatum, 

A  Question,  a  Reply: 
The  murmur  of  rising  Russia — 

Then  peace  struck  down  to  die. 


For  Slav  and  Frank  and  Teuton 
Are  kindled;  and  the  fuse 

Is  laid  to  the  heart  of  England: 
Can  she  to  quench  it  choose? 


92        EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 


WAR 

The  great  clock  in  Westminster 
Beats  on  or  muffled  chimes, 

As  it  has  done  in  war  or  peace 
Before,  unnumbered  times. 

The  moon,  behind  its  tower, 
That  rose  ere  England  was, 

Knows  not  the  bloody  die  is  cast, 
But  only  Nature's  laws. 


MOBILIZATION 

All  night  there  come  the  cries 
Acclaiming  new  recruits; 

All  night  the  turgid  tramp 
Of  battle-shodden  boots. 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  93 

And  well,  ah,  well  we  know 

That  ere  the  year  shall  pass 
Their  restless  lips  and  restless  feet 

Shall  rest — beneath  the  grass. 


m 

THE  DEAD 

(On  the  Battlefields) 


Shovel  them  under  the  earth, 

The  innumerable  dead, 
And  then  on  with  the  mirth 

Of  singing,  stinging  lead. 

Shovel  them  under  the  earth, 
Their  hearts  that  held  the  stars 

Shall  wage  now  with  the  witless  worm 
No  unappeasable  wars. 


94  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 


Shovel  them  under  the  earth: 
Aye,  tho  they  might  have  borne 

If  left  to  home  and  peace  and  toil 
Humanity's  new  morn. 

Shovel  them  under  the  earth, 
And  with  them  the  great  wage 

Of  vast  achievement  that  is  lost. 
Our  children's  heritage. 


For  here  were  curious  brains, 

Thro  which  accursed  lead 
Struck  wantonly — on  dreams  that  held 

The  future— left  them  dead. 

Or,  furiously  and  blind, 

Against  a  forehead  hurled 
Put  out  in  silence  what  had  been 

Great  music  for  the  world. 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  95 


Great  music — now  but  dust. 

Oh,  here  is  such  a  waste 
As  not  the  hiving  centuries 

May  hope  to  see  replaced. 

So  shovel  them  under  the  earth, 

Within  a  sodden  trench. 
Our  children  now  shall  have  of  them 

But  this— a  little  stench. 


IV 
THE  PRAYERS  OF  THE  WARRING  NATIONS 

.     .     .     "neither  shall  there  be  war  any  more." 

Now,  God  in  Heaven,  you  surely  hear 

Your  noble  Christian  nations? 
Two  thousand  years  they  have  held  you  dear 

And  poured  you  out  libations. 


96  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

Your  shrines  have  run  with  ruddy  Crusades 

And  Inquisition-brine, 
But  now  there  is  poured  for  your  delight 
A  redder  spilth  of  wine. 

That  first  small  voice  is  Servia's,  pushed 

To  front  by  mother  Russia, 
Who  kneels— on  a  million  peasants  crushed- 

To  keep  your  ear  from  Prussia: 
"Dear  God"  it  says,  as  a  good  Slav  should, 

"I  made  brave  war  last  year: 
I  slaughtered  the  Turk,  a  Christian  work, 

So  now  I  pray  you  hear: 

"My  sister  Austria  sits  on  a  throne 

That's  bitten  from  my  borders. 
A  thief  is  she,  a  dog  with  a  bone 

That's  mine,  by  Nature's  orders. 
I  pray  you  then,  by  the  Cross  you  love, 

Of  Petrograd,  not  Rome, 
Join  with  us  to  rend  her,  root  and  stem, 

To  raze  her,  heart  and  home  ! 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  97 

"Join  with  us  to  rend  her!"     .    .    .    Ay  God,  grant 

A  prayer  so  high  of  beauty! 
Yet  not  till  Austria  there  shall  pant 

One  equal  in  Christ-duty. 
"I  have  been  patient,  Lord"  it  comes, 

With  Servians  jealousy. 
Now  let  me  lash  her  peoples  till 

They  learn  thou  lovest  me  ! 

"Now  let  me  lash  them  I"    .    .    .    God  of  men!   .   .    . 

Yet  stay:  there's  Russia's  murmur, 
"If  Servians  lashed,  0  Lord,  why  then 

My  right  must  be  the  firmer. 
For  Austria  prays  with  Teuton  tongue, 

Whose  purpose  is  to  seize 
The  little  peoples  whom  Thou  hast  set 

To  cushion  my  poor  knees. 

"So,  Lord,  for  the  worshipping  and  praise 

That  to  you  I  have  given, 
Beseech  you  tear  the  Teuton,  craze 

His  land,  let  it  be  riven  I 


98  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

Use  for  this  glorious  deed  my  horde 

Of  Cossacks,  from  the  wild, 
Till  stands  naught  Prussian  to  the  sun, 

No  man  to  maid  or  child! " 

Aye  Lord,  "naught  Prussian,"  for  your  fane 

Of  earth  will  then  ring  rapture, 
As  rivers  of  blood  and  tears  and  pain 

Your  altars  quickly  capture. 
But  what?  the  Teuton  is  near,  to  seize 

Your  heart  with  Rhenish  prayer? 
To  flame  in  its  stead  another  up 

Into  your  heaven's  air? 

And  France  is  loud,  and  England,  too, 

Your  holy  aid  beseeching? 
Unnumbered  millions,  all  Christ-true, 

Their  hands  to  heaven  upreaching? 
And  craving,  each,  that  their  enemies 

May  fall  by  fire  and  sword, 
By  famine  and  fate  and  pestilence 

And  all  hell's  murder-horde? 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  99 

O  God  in  Heaven,  you  surely  hear 

Your  noble  righteous  nations? 
Two  thousand  years  they  have  held  you  dear, 

And  now  they  pour  libations 
Of  blood,  with  the  tears  of  wife  and  babe, 

And  on  your  altars  burn 
All  civilization's  frankincense: 

Lord,  lean  to  each  in  turn. 


GOD  OR  CHAOS 

(Westminster  Abbey,  during  the  siege  of  Liege,  August, 
1914) 

To-day  all  music 
And  worship  are  vain, 
The  vast  holy  beauty 
Around  me,  pain. 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 
The  high  worn  windows, 
The  arches  that  rise, 
The  great  dead  at  rest  here 
Draw  tears  to  my  eyes. 


For  is  it  not  useless, 
The  race  men  run? 
The  Hell-blood  of  battle 
And  that  of  God's  Son? 


Are  poets  and  prophets 
Who  die  for  high  dreams 
Not  dupes  of  a  Being 
That  soullessly  streams? 


Or,  unto  its  Purpose, 
If  purpose  there  be, 
Are  men  as  amoebae 
To  that  of  the  sea? 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 
Swarm  they  thro  the  ages, 
Like  vermin,  to  die? 
Have  they  no  true  reason 
For  living  soul-high? 

None?  even  to  better 
Their  kind,  till  a  day 
When  life  for  the  living 
Shall  seem  good  alway? 

When  earth  shall  be  heaven?- 
Alas,  there  is  death, 
Whose  certain  impending 
Can  poison  all  breath! 

Whose  silence  and  shadow — 
And  opening  tomb — 
Shall  ever  surround  us 
With  anguish  and  gloom!     . 


102  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

So,  life,  all-enduring — 
Not  such  as  we  know, 
But  such  as  we  dream  of 
Must  succour  our  woe! 

A  life  that  grows  upward 
And  outward  and  on, 
That  opens  forever 
Upon  a  new  dawn. 


That  sees  without  ceasing 
Or  blindness  or  break 
A  vaster  horizon 
Before  it  awake. 


For  this  were  an  anguish 
Surpassing  appal, 
To  strive  thro  the  ages 
For  No  Soul  at  aU; 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  103 

To  suffer  our  years  out, 
Then  utterly  die, 
Of  use  unto  no  one — 
Ourselves  or  the  Sky. 


To  No  One !  but  living 
And  dying  in  pain, 
To  find  ourselves  quickly 
Refashioned  again. 


Refashioned  forever: 
No  hope  in  the  grave! 
Oblivion  nowhere 
To  silence  and  save. 


Death  useless  as  living! — 
O  God,  thou  must  bide, 
Or  nought  can  avail  us, 
Not  world-suicide. 


io4  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

And  if  the  earth  rages, 
Immense  in  its  crime, 
And  bleeds  as  if  blotting 
Thy  Face  from  all  time, 


Yet  must  we  unshaken 
Remember  Thou  art, 
Not  fear  that  blind  chaos 
Is  lord  of  life's  heart. 


'  FATHER  MERAN 
(During  the  Belgian  war-famine) 

They  come  at  night,  the  thoughts  I  hide, 
And  pluck  like  ghouls  at  my  dead  faith, 
Crying  that  God,  who  lets  war  be, 
Is  but  a  phantom,  but  a  wraith. 
They  come,  as  do  uncounted  faces 
Out  of  the  cold  and  corpse-strewn  places    , 
Till  I  arise  and  by  the  pyx 
Lay  off  my  peaceless  crucifix. 

For  in  the  church  have  I  to  sleep. 
Elsewhere  too  many  starving  lips 
Strain  at  me — strain,  until  it  seems 
My  soul  will  madden  to  eclipse. 
105 


106  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

But  in  the  church  the  Virgin  only 
Has  her  one  Babe  to  nourish,  lonely: 
And  with  the  crucifix  laid  by 
I  can  escape  their  hunger-cry. 

Escape,  unless,  ere  I  lie  down 
A  knock  comes  at  the  chantry  door 
To  bid  me  out  and  shrive  the  souls 
Of  shattered  men— a  thousand  more. 
Shrive,  with  a  faith  that's  dead,  the  dying; 
To  them  of  Christ  and  Heaven  lying; 
Holding  to  each  a  tortured  Cross 
Against  his  soul's  eternal  loss. 

0  that  I  could  believe  again! 

1  would  go  down  to  Hell  for  just 
A  year  of  faith  that  earth  and  sky 

Are  more  than  blood  and  death — and  dust. 

In  its  abyss  of  fire  and  moaning 

Willingly  would  I  lie  atoning 
Even  for  those  who  struck  Christ's  Star 
From  heaven  with  this  Demon  war. 


THE  NEW  PATRIOT 

Within  his  heart  East  shall  be  one 
With  West,  and  his  effaceless  thought 

Shall  be  that  earth  was  made  for  all 
Its  driven  millions  sore-distraught. 

For  he  at  last  shall  look  and  see 

Through  all  the  creeds  about  him  hurled, 
His  nation  is  humanity, 

His  country  is  the  world. 


107 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  HOMESICK  GAEL 

(In  the  characteristic  minor  of  a  recent  literary 
movement) 

I  long  to  see  the  solan-goose 

Wing  over  Ailsa  crag 
At  dusk  again— or  Girvan  gulls  at  dawn; 
To  see  the  osprey  grayly  glide 

The  winds  of  Kamasaig: 
For  grayness  now  my  heart  is  set  upon. 

The  grayness  of  sea-spaces  where 

There's  loneliness  alone, 
Save  for  the  wings  that  sweep  it  with  unrest, 
Save  for  the  hunger-cries  that  sound 

And  die  into  a  moan, 

Save  for  the  moaning  hunger  in  my  breast. 
108 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  109 

For  grayness  is  the  hue  of  all 

In  life  that  is  not  lies. 
A  thousand  years  of  tears  are  in  my  heart, 
And  only  in  their  mystery 

Can  I  be  truly  wise: 
From  light  and  laughter  follies  only  start. 

I  long  to  see  the  mists  again 

Above  the  tumbling  tide 
Of  Ailsa,  at  the  coming  of  the  night. 
There's  weariness  and  emptiness 

And  soul  unsatisfied 
Forever  in  the  places  of  delight. 


A   DEVON   RIDE 

I  sped  like  the  wind  over  Woodbury  Common, 
The  heath  spread  purple,  the  hills  hung  clear, 

The  sky  was  a-swim  with  silver  and  salmon, 
The  sea  shouted  up  to  me  salty  cheer. 

I  sped  like  the  wind,  for  joy  was  upon  me, 
The  glory  of  being,  the  sting  of  great  earth, 

The  throb  that  has  ever  divinely  drawn  me 
To  think  the  whole  world  is  a  smile  of  mirth. 

I  sped  like  the  wind.    How  green  was  the  bracken! 

The  lift  of  it,  drift  of  it,  swing  of  it,  sway! 
O  sunnily  glad  could  I  feel  God  slacken 

His  heart-strings,  too,  in  a  tide  of  play! 
no 


A    SIDMOUTH    LAD 

Salcombe  Hill  and  four  hills  more 
Lie  to  leftward  of  this  shore. 
On  the  right  Peak  Hill  arises 
Ever  rises,  sick'ning,  o'er. 

Two  score  rotting  years  IVe  seen 
Sidmouth  sit  those  hills  between: 
Only  Sidmouth— and  twice  over 
Must  I  bide  it,  as  I've  been. 

Then  a  churchyard  hole  for  me, 
By  the  dull  voice  of  the  sea. 
Rotting,  still  in  Sidmouth  rotting, 
Rotting  to  eternity. 


WIDOWED 

One  wild  gull  on  a  wilder  storm, 
Winging  to  keep  her  lone  heart  warm. 
One  wild  gull  by  the  surf— and  I, 
Beaten  by  wind  and  rain  and  sky. 

One  wild  gull  in  the  offing  lost, 
Wilder  heart  in  my  bosom  tost. 
One  wild  gull— O  why  but  one! 
Two,  dear  God,  should  there  be— or  none! 


112 


THE  LARGER  LOSS 

Far  up  to  a  moor  above  the  sea 

I  climbed— and  took  one  thought  with  me, 

But  gazing  thence,  over  sea  and  moor, 
I  flung  thought  off  as  a  thing  impure. 

For  God  loves  moor  and  sea  and  wind, 

But  thought  is  a  shift  of  men  who've  sinned. 

And  who  no  more  with  the  sea  and  sky 
Can  live,  but  they  must  question  Why. 

Must  ever  question  till  the  earth 
Has  lost  the  wild  joy  of  its  worth. 

And  that  is  loss  all  loss  above — 
In  Reason  to  forget  to  love. 
"3 


RE-RECKONING 

Two  years  have  gone,  and  again  I  stand 
On  the  bow  of  a  mighty  ship 

4 

That  pushes  her  way  'twixt  sea  and  stars 

With  soft  and  dreamy  dip. 
Two  years  of  labouring,  heart  and  hand, 

Of  waging  spirit- wars, 
Of  wondering  ever  what  life  is — 

And  if  death  heals  its  scars. 

Two  years;  and  again  the  mast-bell  sounds 

Above  me — with  a  low  voice, 
As  ghostly  as  the  white  phosphor-foam 

That  breaks  with  the  old  noise 
Of  waters  that  have  washed  all  bounds 

Of  earth,  that  is  man's  home— 
His  ark — on  the  wide  ether  flung, 

Unrestingly  to  roam. 
114 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  115 

For,  even  as  we,  is  this  our  earth 

An  endless  wanderer 
Far  down  a  universe  with  vast 

Strange  voyagings  astir; 
And  where  time  ever  brings  to  birth 

A  craving,  never  past, 
To  fare  from  where  we  are,  to  where 

No  anchor  e'er  was  cast. 

A  craving — in  the  mote,  the  man, 

The  mollusc  and  the  star; 
A  yearning  on— O  lif e !    O  life ! 

How  far  leads  it,  how  far? 
All  unbelievably  began 

Thy  voyage,  mid  a  strange  strife — 
That,  meaningless,  yet  seems  to  mean 

It  is  with  Wisdom  rife. 

But  if  it  is  not,  shall  we  say, 

"Let  man  scuttle  his  ship, 
And  drown  in  universal  death 

The  griefs  that  at  him  grip?  " 


n6  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

No;  for  no  surety  rests  therein 

To  certain  end  of  breath. 
He  can  but  let  hope  set  the  course 

His  soul  foretokeneth. 


LAST  LINES  OF  THE  POET  OF  SUMA 

(Japan) 

A  broken  bell 

Under  a  rent  thatch  tower 

Beside  a  ruined  temple 

Of  Suma  Mountain. 

To  it  each  hour 

The  mist  comes  like  a  priest 

But  cannot  sound  it. 

Ever  anear  I  dwell. 

For  so  my  heart, 
Broken  by  age  and  sadness 
And  twined  about  with  ruin 
And  death  is  hanging. 
117 


n8  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

And  if  dim  gladness 
Comes  like  a  silent  wraith 
And  seeks  to  sound  it, 
Only  the  tears  start. 


ORIGINS 

Such  beauty  cannot  be  by  chance, 
The  mere  chance  of  an  atom-dance. 

The  fair  shape  of  yon  soft  sea-moon 
Was  never  by  mere  hazard  hewn. 

That  star  which  beams  its  lovely  way 
Into  my  heart  has  more  to  say 

Than  ever  by  Fortuity 
Was  lent  to  moon  or  star  or  sea. 

So  if  moons  bide,  or  pass  away, 
If  not  a  star  in  heaven  shall  stay, 

If  like  all  things  I,  too,  am  spent, 
It  will  not  be  by  accident. 


119 


THE  BRIDE  OF  OITA 

(Japan) 

A  single  sampan  sail:  one  sail,  beating  there,  on  the 
blind  sea:  means  more  than  the  eight  million  gods 
and  Buddhas  can  to  me! 

For  it  is  bringing  home  my  lord,  out  of  the  storm ! 
.  .  .  To  the  gods  I  kneel  .  .  .  Namu  .  .  .  ! 
.  .  .  But  love,  and  love  alone,  my  heart  can 
warm! 

A  single  sampan  sail!  .  .  .  Will  it  soon  fold  to 
rest  its  weary  wing?  .  .  .  How  wide  then,  ah, 
how  wide,  my  shoji  door  will  swing ! 


120 


THE  IMMANENT  GOD 

(As  a  Sceptic  sees  Him) 

See  your  God  in  the  jelly-fish, 

Sucking  salty  food. 

See  Him  drift  in  the  gulf-weed, 

In  shark-bellies  brood. 

See  Him  feed  with  the  gull  there, 

In  a  gray  ship's  wake. 

Feel  Him  afresh 

In  your  own  hot  flesh 

When  into  lust  you  break. 

Hear  His  wrath  in  the  hurricane, 
Hushing  a  hundred  lives. 
Hist  His  heave  in  the  earthquake, 
In  volcano  hives. 

121 


122  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

Hark  His  stride  in  the  plague-wind, 

Over  a  sterile  shore. 

Down  in  a  mine, 

Behold  what  wine 

Of  coal-damp  He  will  pour. 

Aye,  and  there  in  the  ribaldry 

Of  a  night-wench's  song 

Hear  Him — or  on  a  child's  lips 

Cursing  a  slum-mate's  wrong. 

Stark  He  starves  in  the  street  there, 

Or,  full-fed,  will  go: 

He,  your  God, 

In  every  clod 

Or  clot  of  human  woe. 

And — in  every  infamy 
Loathed  by  you  with  shame. 
Clear  of  the  saddest  soul-stench 
None  can  keep  His  name. 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  123 

Man's,  you  may  say,  all  crime  is, 
But  Who  gave  man  birth? 
Spawn  of  the  years 
Is  he — with  tears 
And  strife  to  give  him  worth. 

Spawn  of  the  Universes, 
God's  great  flesh  and  bone. 
Stars  are  the  cells  that  float  there, 
Thro  lymph-ether  strown. 
Dying,  living,  and  dead  there, 
Coming  again  to  birth 
Out  of  a  Womb 
That  was  their  Tomb 
Are  they — and  is  out  earth. 

Such  is  your  Immanent  God — yea, 
Evil  as  well  as  good, 
Vileness  even  as  beauty 
Holds  His  strange  Godhood. 


i24  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

Great  He  seems  in  the  sea's  surge, 

Fair  in  a  woman's  face, 

Yet  with  the  worm 

He  feeds  a  term 

On  every  goodly  grace. 

Spirit,  then,  you  may  hold  Him, 

High  of  plan  and  hope. 

But  world-flesh  does  He  strive  with, 

Yearn  like  us— and  grope; 

So  must  ever  and  oft  seem 

Avid  to  escape 

From  the  hid  yeast 

That  moulds  the  least 

Of  all  things  to  His  shape. 

Spirit,  may  be— or  haply 
We  had  known  no  growth, 
But  in  a  slime  primeval 
Still  would  dwell  in  sloth. 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  125 

Yet  if  such  is  His  Being, 
Finite  is  His  need. 
To  the  same  ends 
As  earth  He  wends 
And  journeying  must  bleed. 


OCEAN  OF  NIGHT 

Wash  me  again,  ocean  of  night, 

Clean  of  the  cares  of  day. 
For  I  am  soiled,  in  heart  and  sight, 

By  the  fume  and  fret  and  fray 
Of  the  griefs  of  men  and  the  wrongs  of  men 

And  the  sins  of  men  who  stray. 
Bathe  me,  O  night,  and  lif  t  and  lave  me— 

Let  no  assoiling  stay. 

Wash  me  again,  cleanser  of  care, 

Then  let  the  winds  of  sleep 
Over  me  blow,  with  opiate  air, 

And  all  my  spirit  steep. 
From  the  heart  of  earth  and  the  heart  of  space 

And  the  heart  of  God  let  sweep 
Healing,  0  night— a  strong  tide,  stealing 

Into  my  soul's  last  deep. 
126 


HONGKONG   CITY  AT  NIGHT 

Across  the  harbour,   shining  gray,  you  gleam,  a 

myriad  lights, 

As  if  fond  heaven  had  emptied  all  its  stars, 
To  fill  your  lap,  and  on  your  brow  and  mountain 

breast  the  spray 
To  spread,  O  city  of  enchanted  nights! 

Dim  ships  at  anchor  round  you,  too,  have  caught  the 

shimmering  shower, 

And  cast  long  meteor  gleams  across  the  tide — 
Where   dark-winged   junks,    that   flit   about,   like 

strange  sea-bats,  but  strew 
Your  beauty  with  a  more  mysterious  power. 
127 


is8  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

I  sail  away;  and  wanly  do  you  vanish  from  my  eyes, 

But  in  the  magic  voids  of  memory 
You  are  enchantress  still,  a  starry  city  from  the  skies, 

Upon  the  phosphor  fringes  of  the  sea. 


A  WIFE 

In  holy  wedlock — maid  and  man — 
We  stood;  then  yearningly  I  ran 
Into  his  arms — and  hell  began. 

He  kissed  me  for  a  week,  caresst 

My  body,  throat  and  brow  and  breast: 

Then  of  his  weariness  confest. 

And  turned  to  others  who  had  been 
Old  partners  of  his  passion's  sin — 
Or  whom  it  were  mere  boast  to  win. 

For  women  are  to  him  but  flesh 
To  serve  and  satisfy  afresh 
The  lusts  that  thro  him  throb  and  thresh. 
129 


i3o  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

And  I  am  but  one  of  them — who 

Am  bound  to  him  a  whole  life  thro: 

\ 
One  whom  he  scarce  has  need  to  woo. 

For  well  he  knows  that  till  I  die 

I  must  be  at  his  bidding  by.    ... 

What  wanton  is  so  low  as  I? 


BEACONS 

Like  a  spirit  spark  from  the  heart  of  God 
The  coast-light  flashes  over  the  sea, 

Then  leaves  it  wandering,  wild  and  dark — 
As  if  light  never  more  could  be. 

And  so  it  is  with  the  spark  of  faith 
In  every  sad  and  wandering  heart. 

It  goes — as  if  forever:  then 
All  deathless  up  again  will  start. 


THE  LIVING  BUDDHA 
(Peking) 

I  saw  the  living  Buddha  come, 
Not  to  the  beat  of  gong  or  drum, 
Not  to  the  breath  of  hymn  or  hum 

Of  prayers, 

But  in  a  yellow  Mongol  cart, 
Drawn  by  the  oxen  set  apart 
For  such  perfection,  thro  long  art 

And  cares. 

Around  him  yellow  lamas  sat, 
Ivory  lean  or  sleek  and  fat, 
Each  on  a  silken  broidered  mat, 
Unheeding. 

132 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  133 

And  he  amid  them  rode  as  calm 
As  if  it  were  Nirvana,  from 
Whose  peace  he  heard  a  mystic  "Om" 
Proceeding. 

"What,"  said  I,  "this  is  Buddhahood? 

All  the  world's  evil  and  its  good 

This  thick-lipped  youth  has  understood — 

None  better? 

Knows  he  the  only  way  that  peace 
May  come  to  us,  and  full  release 
From  all  Desire's  futilities 

That  fetter? 

"Yea,  and  that  Time  is  but  a  Stream 
Got  of  Illusion's  lustful  dream? 
That  worth  and  glory  do  but  seem, 

To  sages? 

O  can  it  be  that  throngs — a  third 
Of  earth's  all  hold  that  fatal  word? 
Have  by  it  to  retreat  been  stirred 

Forages?" 


T34  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

The  thought  struck  sudden  thro  my  heart — 

As  an  assuageless  pity-dart. 

I  closed  my  eyes  to  crowd  and  cart 

And  pondered 

How  long  such  nations  must  have  lain 
Numb  with  despair  and  heavy  pain 
Ere  to  this  creed,  with  life-trust  slain, 

They  wandered. 


FROM  A   NORTHERN  BEACH 

Is  it  because  for  a  million  years 

The  tide  has  entered  here 

From  cold  north  seas 

Where  ice-floes  freeze 

That  ever  unto  my  ear 

Primordial  loneness  in  its  voice 

Comes  telling  of  that  time 
When  life  was  not,  upon  the  earth, 
But  only  glacier-rime? 

Is  it  because  these  granite  rocks 
I  share  with  weed  and  scurf 
Were  held  so  long 
By  the  ice-throng 


i36  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

That  now  they  take  the  surf 
So  selflessly  and  soullessly 

As  if  God's  Immanence 
Had  been  pressed  from  them,  never  more 

To  enter,  with  sweet  sense? 

And  is  it  because  I,  too,  evolved 
From  ice  and  sea  and  shore, 
Can  understand 
How  life  has  spanned 
The  lifeless  ages  o'er, 
That  as  I  sit  here,  suddenly 

The  tide  again  seems  stilled 
And  earth  beneath  a  great  white  pall 
Again  lies  changed  and  chilled? 

So  it  must  be — ah,  so;  for  soft 
Within  my  muted  brain 

The  heritage 

Of  age  on  age 
Reverberates  again. 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  137 

Wherefore  when  glacial  Silence  comes 

With  Death  I  shall  emerge 
From  that  as  from  the  frozen  Past, 

Under  Life's  endless  urge. 


TREES  AND  GRASS 

Whoever  will  may  have  the  flowers, 

Mine  are  the  trees  and  grass! 
Scent  there  may  be  in  the  blossom-bowers, 

But,  oh,  when  the  breezes  pass 
Thro  purling  leafy  tops  of  the  trees 

That  ripple  against  the  sky, 
Their  murmuring  makes  it  good  to  live, 
To  take  whatever  life  has  to  give; 

And  good,  at  last,  to  die. 

Whoever  will  may  have  the  flowers — 

Lily  or  wilding  rose. 
Common  the  grass  may  seem  in  hours 

Enspelled  by  love  of  those. 
138 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  13$ 

But,  oh,  the  flowers  are  little  of  earth, 

The  green  grass  covers  it  all — 
A  couch  to  be  for  my  head  to-day, 
And,  when  to-morrow  I'm  gone  away, 

A  cool  clean  winding-pall. 

Whoever  will  may  have  the  flowers, 

Mine  are  the  trees  and  grass. 
Beautiful  care  on  the  one  earth  dowers, 

But,  oh,  what  peace  can  pass 
Thro  the  blood  and  breath  and  heart  and  mind— 

And  into  the  soul  of  me, 
When  I  lie  down  with  the  grass  and  trees, 
And  know  God  never  needs  strive  for  these, 

But  merely  lets  them  be/ 


ZEBI 

She  asked — and  I  gave  her — a  "lira." 
The  name  that  she  bore  was  Z£bi. 

Her  eyes,  of  a  Raphael's  era, 
Found  bliss  in  a  fondled  baby. 

She  said  she  had  worn  the  city 
In  search  of  her  lover,  Gian! 

Stabbing  my  heart  with  pity, 
So  little  she  was  and  wan. 

He  had  gone,  she  said,  "  And,  Signore, 

Baby  was  yet  to  come! " 
The  immemorial  story— 

Of  woman's  fate  the  sum ! 
140 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  141 

Pitiless  there  he  had  left  her 

To  struggle,  or  starve,  for  bread. 
But  she  loved  him,  tho  he  bereft  her — 

And  should,  till  he  was  dead. 


"And  he  went  with  a  signorina?  " — 
"At  the  merest  wave  of  a  glove! 

They  called  her  'la  Scarlattina,' 
She  burned  men  so  with  love." 


"And  why,"  I  muttered  to  Heaven, 
"Does  God  make  such  as  he! 

Slaves  unto  lust,  and  the  leaven 
Of  lust,  their  cruelty!" 

At  which  with  a  wise  vainglory 
She  said,  this  sad  little  Ze^bi, 

"I  think  I  can  tell,  signore: 
God  made  him  to  give  me  baby ! " 


DURING  A  LONG  CALM 

Great  God,  is  this  the  tameless  sea,  that  oft 
Has  plunged  with  foamy  hoofs  along  the  shore 
And  stamped  the  streaming  sands  with  such  a  roar 

As  made  the  startled  clifis  stand  stark  aloft? 

Is  this  the  reinless  sea,  that  when  it  will 

Can  paw  all  things  that  ride  it  down  to  death, 

And  breathe  into  the  air  a  blinding  chill 
Of  fog  in  which  they  sense  destruction's  breath? 


Why,  like  a  calmly  pasturing  thing  it  creeps 
With  softly  lapping  tongue  along  the  beach, 
And  soundless  to  its  farthest  shining  reach 

It  lies,  in  sunny  idleness,  and  sleeps. 
142 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  143 

Is  this — is  this  the  sea,  so  sleekly  bared, 

So  passionless,  so  pallid,  and  so  null? 
Then  never  has  my  heart  that  I  have  dared 

To  liken  to  it  lain  in  sloth  so  dull. 


EVENING  WATERS 

Evening  waters  softly  gleaming 

Where  the  far  sun  is  gone  to  rest, 
Gray  and  gold  around  me  streaming, 

Like  a  tidal  palimpsest 
On  which  God  is  ever  writing 

Thro  the  night  and  thro  the  day 
Mysteries  no  heart  can  fathom — 

Words  that  fade  in  wind  away; 

Evening  waters,  softly  flowing, 

In  a  little  while  the  stars 
Will  He  bosom,  faintly  glowing, 

In  your  deeps,  like  avatars 
Of  His  thoughts  that  first  were  scattered 

Fulgent  thro  infinity — 
Whose  profundity  eternal 

Somehow  tells  us  it  is  He. 
144 


IN  A  PARK  PAVILION 

Yesterday,  where  I  am  sitting, 

A  young  girl  sat  and  said, 
"Naught  am  I  to  the  living, 

I  will  go  to  the  dead." 
Wind  and  bird  around  were  flitting, 

April  thro  the  air 
Flung  the  buds  a  million  kisses — 
From  the  sky's  blue  sweet  abysses: 
But  she,  numb  to  all  its  blisses, 

Blew  her  brains  out  there. 

All  the  world's  wide-springing  beauty, 

All  the  wood's  glad  dew, 
Hung  about  her  heavy 

With  despair's  sick  hue. 
US 


i46  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

Dregs,  to  her,  but  dregs,  was  duty; 

Past  and  future  hung 
Like  blind  curtains  that  her  craving 
Could  not  pierce,  to  any  saving: 
Useless  seemed  it  to  be  braving 

Breath  so  sorrow-wrung. 

So  she  pressed  a  fated  finger — 

And  the  earth  went  out; 
Swept  from  her  forever 

By  a  bullet's  flout. 
For  she  cared  not  still  to  linger 

In  its  April  song; 
But,  thro  clotted  blood,  her  spirit 
Sent  to  God,  and  bade  Him  fear  it — 
If  He  had  not  sought  to  hear  it, 

And  annul  its  wrong. 

There  is  much  space  in  the  heavens, 

Space  to  lose  God  in, 
If  we  hold  as  guilty 

The  shiner,  not  the  sin. 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  147 

Every  crime  has  many  leavens 

Causing  it  to  rise 

From  the  deeps  of  human  passion — 
Where  she  felt  the  long  years  fashion 
Fate  for  her — she  who  now  ashen 

And  self-ended  lies. 

Yet,  'tis  certain  that  creation 

Has  its  Freedom,  too, 
Welling  up  forever 

Thro  life's  fate,  and  thro; 
That  despair  and  degradation, 

Unto  such  as  she, 
Cannot  disavow  the  springing 
Of  new  inner  strength  e'er  bringing 
Aid  to  us,  despite  fate's  wringing. 

Peace,  and  let  her  be. 


THE  FISHING 

I  baited  my  hook  with  a  thought  of  God 

And  cast  it  out  on  the  tides  of  Space 
And  said  I  will  catch  life's  mystery, 

Where  the  great  star-wonders  race. 
It  sank  like  a  plummet,  past  the  deeps 

Of  Vega  and  vast  Aldebaran; 
But  ever  the  mystery  I  caught 

Was  shaped  as  the  heart  of  man. 

Then,  "Lo,"  said  I,  " there  is  law  in  this!" 

And,  baiting  my  hook  with  a  thought  of  men, 
I  cast  it  out  on  the  infinite 

Of  star-foamed  space  again, 
And  soon  there  was  strain  at  the  hither  end, 

A  thrill  of  things  beyond  earth's  clod, 
And  swift  there  came  to  the  heart  of  me 

The  mystery  of  God. 
.   148 


ABEYANCE 

I  heard  the  Autumn  leaves  drop  thro  the  moonlight 

And  sink  upon  the  ground. 
I  heard  the  wind  flit  by,  a  cricket  cry, 

And  then  no  sound. 
But  even  in  the  pale  sheen  of  the  distance 

Hung  the  year's  death. 
Earth's  heart  at  last  had  lost  all  sweet  insistence 

On  breath. 

I  wondered  at  the  wan  ways  of  the  planets, 

At  moon  and  misty  star, 
At  the  fair  feet  of  Spring  now  wandering 

Somewhere  afar; 
And  vain  was  all  belief  that  she,  with  tidal 

Remembrance  rife, 
Could  turn  again,  to  bring  earth,  wintry-idle, 

New  life. 

149    ? 


OLD  AGE  AND  AUTUMN 

Drifting  leaves 

And  searing  sheaves 
In  a  world  of  silence  and  solitudes; 

A  world  grown  weak 

And  Autumn-meek, 

Thro  the  wide-garnered  fields  and  woods; 
A  world  where  the  spider  silent  weaves 
A  shroud  for  seeds  that  have  fallen  low. 

Drifting  leaves 

And  searing  sheaves, 
And  the  caw  of  a  crpw. 

Drifting  leaves 
And  searing  sheaves, 
And  a  heart  forgetful  overmuch; 
A  heart  grown  old 
To  wind  and  wold, 
150 


EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH  151 

No  longer  thrilled  with  Nature's  touch; 
A  heart  so  weary  that  torpor  weaves 
Its  shroud — for  so  all  things  must  go; 
Drifting  leaves     .     .     . 
And  searing  sheaves     .     .     . 
And  the  caw  of  a  crow. 


A  LOVER,  REJECTED 

Some  day  you  will  love: 

Then  there  will  be  no  more  for  you 

Sun,  moon,  earth,  star, 

Or  any  certain  thing; 
But  only  one  want, 
Like  mine,  without  shore,  for  you — 

Infinite,  vast  and  aching, 

Dread  yet  divine. 

Yes,  you  will  love, 

And  yearning  then  will  shake,  for  you, 

Pride,  hope,  tranquillity, 

And  all  you  counted  dear. 
For  this  law  stands- 
Its  chain  shall  never  break  for  you: 

Who  laughs  at  love  lightly 

Lives  to  love  with  pain. 
152 


A  LITANY  FOR  LATTER-DAY  MYSTICS 

Out  of  the  Vastness  that  is  God 

I  summon  the  power  to  heal  me. 
It  comes,  with  peace  ineffable 

And  patience,  to  anneal  me. 
Ajar  I  set  my  soul-doors 

Toward  unbounded  Life 
And  let  the  infinitudes  of  it 

Flow  thro  me,  vigour-rife. 


Out  of  the  Vastness  that  is  God 
I  summon  the  power  to  still  me. 

It  comes  from  inner  deeps,  divine 
With  destinies  that  thrill  me. 


154  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

It  follows  the  hush  of  every  wrong; 

And  every  vain  unrest 
It  banishes;  and  leaves  a  bliss 

Before  all  unpossest. 

Out  of  the  Vastness  that  is  God 

I  summon  the  strength  to  keep  me, 
And  from  all  fleshly  fears  that  fret 

With  spirit-winds  to  sweep  me. 
I  summon  the  faith  that  puts  to  flight 

All  impotence  and  ills, 
And  that,  thro  the  wide  universe, 

Well-being's  breath  distills. 


GOD,  TO  MEN 

When  I  compass  earth  with  winds, 

Or  array  its  loins  with  cloud, 
When  I  draw  its  tides  to  the  moon, 

Or  cover  it  with  night's  shroud, 
When  I  tether  it  to  the  sun, 

And  the  sun  to  a  million  more, 
Do  you  think  I  have  done  as  much  as  I  do 

When  I  open  a  least  soul-door? 


When  I  bid  wild  comets  spring 
Thro  uttermost  space,  at  play, 

Or  gather  the  nebulae  up 
And  fashion  the  Milky  Way, 


i  $6  EARTH  AND  NEW  EARTH 

When  I  call,  from  the  Never-seen, 

Spring's  mystery  thro  the  sod, 
Do  you  think  I  rejoice  as  much  as  I  do 

At  your  murmur,  "It  is  God"? 


Nay! — So,  when  I  win,  at  last, 

To  an  Immanence  complete, 
And  thro  star- world  or  soul 

Can  assert  my  least  heart-beat, 
Do  you  think  that  a  terror  still 

Shall  astringe  your  liberty? 
Not  so;  you  shall  share,  thro  the  Universe, 

Full  masterdom  with  Me. 


ULTIMATES 

If  Autumn  came  to  the  universe 

And  the  worlds  like  dead  leaves  fell, 
If  Time  lay  dumb  in  the  boundless  hearse 

Of  Space — an  ended  spell; 
If  this  had  chanced — as  chance  it  may — 

We  still  should  be  a  part 
Of  all  that  dweUs  in  the  Abyss, 

Or  dreams  within  God's  heart. 

Of  dust  or  dreams:  till  circling  Life 

Again  should  re-create 
Sun,  moon,  and  star  with  the  old  strife 

Of  their  accustomed  fate. 
And,  in  a  new  birth,  doubtless  we, 

Once  more  a-quest,  should  cry 
For  beauty  all  too  rarely  breathed, 

And  love  less  prone  to  die. 


generation,  not  to  create  a  demand  for  a  full 
edition  of  his  works. — The  Hartford  (Conn.) 
Courant. 

This  gathering  of  his  forces  stamps  Mr.  Rice 
as  one  of  the  world's  true  poets,  remarkable 
alike  for  strength,  versatility  and  beauty  of 
expression. — The  Chicago  Herald  (Ethel  M. 
Coltori). 

Any  one  familiar  with  "Cloister  Lays," 
"The  Mystic,"  etc.,  does  not  need  to  be  told 
that  they  rank  with  the  very  best  poetry. 
And  Mr.  Rice's  dramas  are  not  equaled  by 
any  other  American  author's.  .  .  .  The 
admirable  characteristic  of  his  work  is  the 
understanding  of  life.  .  .  .  And  when 
those  who  are  loyal  to  poetic  traditions  cher 
ished  through  the  whole  history  of  our  language 
contemplate  the  anemia  and  artificiality  of 
contemporaries,  they  can  but  assert  that  Mr. 
Rice  has  the  grasp  and  sweep,  the  rhythm, 
imagery  and  pulsating  sympathy,  which  in 
wondering  admiration  are  ascribed  to  genius. 
— The  Los  Angeles  Times. 

Mr.  Rice's  poetic  dramas  have  won  him 
highest  praise.  But  the  universality  of  his 
genius  is  nowhere  more  apparent  than  in  his 
lyrics.  Their  charm  is  derived  both  from  the 
strength  and  beauty  of  their  thought  and 
from  the  multitudinous  felicities  of  their 
utterance.  For  sheer  grace  and  loveliness 


some  of  these  lyrics  are  unsurpassed  in  modern 
poetry. — The  N.  E.  Homestead  (Springfield, 
Mass.). 

It  is  with  no  undue  repetition  that  we 
speak  of  the  very  great  range  and  very  great 
variety  of  Mr.  Rice's  subject,  inspiration,  and 
mode  of  expression.  .  .  .  The  passage  of 
his  spirit  is  truly  from  deep  to  deep. — Mar 
garet  S.  Anderson  (The  Louisville  Evening 
Post). 

In  Mr.  Rice  we  have  a  voice  such  as  America 
has  rarely  known  before. — The  Rochester  (N. 
Y.)  Post  Express. 

It  is  good  to  find  such  sincere  and  beautiful 
work  as  is  in  these  two  volumes.  .  .  .  Here 
is  a  writer  with  no  wish  to  purchase  fame  at 
the  price  of  eccentricity  of  either  form  or 
subject.  He  lives  up  to  his  theory  that  the 
path  of  American  literature  lies  not  in  dis 
tinctly  local  lines,  but  will  become  more  and 
more  cosmopolitan  since  America  is  built  of 
all  civilizations. — The  Independent. 

Mr.  Rice's  style  is  that  of  the   masters. 

.  .  .  Yet  it  is  one  that  is  distinctively 
American.  .  .  .  He  will  live  with  our 
great  poets. — Louisville  Herald  (J.  J.  Cole). 

Mr.  Rice  is  an  American  by  birth,  but  he 
is  not  merely  an  American  poet.  Over  exist- 


ence  and  the  whole  world  his  vision  extends. 
He  is  a  poet  of  human  life  and  his  range  is 
uncircumscribed. — The  Baltimore  Evening 

News. 

Viewing  Mr.  Rice's  plays  as  a  whole,  I 
should  say  that  his  prime  virtue  is  fecundity 
or  affluence,  the  power  to  conceive  and  com 
bine  events  resourcefully,  and  an  abundance 
of  pointed  phrases  which  recalls  and  half  re 
stores  the  great  Elisabethans.  His  aptitude  for 
structure  is  great. — The  Nation  (O.  W.  Fir 
kins). 

Mr.  Rice  has  fairly  won  his  singing  robes 
and  has  a  right  to  be  ranked  with  the  first 
of  living  poets.  One  must  read  the  volumes 
to  get  an  idea  of  their  cosmopolitan  breadth 
and  fresh  abiding  charm.  .  .  .  The  dra 
mas,  taken  as  a  whole,  represent  the  most 
important  work  of  the  kind  that  has  been 
done  by  any  living  writer;  .  .  This  work 
belongs  to  that  great  world  where  the  mightiest 
spiritual  and  intellectual  forces  are  forever 
contending;  to  that  deeper  life  which  calls 
for  the  rarest  gifts  of  poetic  expression. — The 
Book  News  Monthly  (Albert  S.  Henry). 


2  Vol.  $3.00  net 
Doubleday  Page  &  Co. 


AT  THE  WORLD'S  HEART 

By  CALE  YOUNG  RICE 

Another  collection  of  lyrics  by  an  American 
poet  and  dramatist  whose  reputation  is  de 
served. — The  London  Times. 

It  is  the  best  that  is  offered  on  this  side  the 
Atlantic  .  .  .  nearly  always  the  vital, 
gleaming,  burning  thought  is  there,  pulsating 
with  keen  human  sympathy  and  in  a  dominant 
masterful  key  ...  of  convincing  sin 
cerity. — The  Philadelphia  North  American. 

This  new  book  of  Cale  Young  Rice  is  a  pil 
grim  scrip  for  the  world  wanderer.  .  .  . 
His  songs  are  touched  with  the  passion  and 
emotion  of  which  poetry  is  made.  .  .  . 
Those  to  A.  H.  R.  are  so  perfectly  spontaneous 
that  art  has  no  share  in  them,  or  their  art  is 
subtle  and  fine  enough  to  make  them  seem 
wholly  spontaneous. — The  London  Bookman. 

Every  fresh  publication  lifts  Cale  Young 
Rice  a  little  higher  and  "At  The  World's 
Heart"  is  an  appreciable  advance.  From  first 
to  last  the  poems  are  universal  in  appeal,  and 
all  are  distinguished  by  a  fine  balance  of  eager 
emotion  and  technical  finish. — The  Chicago 
Record-Herald. 

A  poet  whose  sympathies  are  as  broad  as 
the  earth  and  cling  close  to  it,  is  Cale  Young 


Rice.  .  .  .  He  has  long  been  recognized  as 
a  master  of  lyrical  technique.  .  .  .  There 
is  (in  this  volume)  scarcely  a  superfluous  line, 
as  there  is  not  a  superfluous  poem. — The 
Louisville  Courier- Journal' 

Cale  Young  Rice  is  highly  esteemed  by 
readers  wherever  English  is  the  native  speech. 
—The  Manchester  (England)  Guardian. 

This  book  justifies  the  more  than  trans 
atlantic  reputation  of  its  author. — The  Sheffield 
(England)  Daily  Telegraph. 

Mr.  Rice  is  not  merely  the  vision- seeing 
dreamer — though  to  be  sure  he  can  weave 
dreams  of  beauty  and  enchantment — but  he 
is  the  observer  of  life.  .  .  .  Any  little 
chance  encounter  .  .  .  illumined  by  his 
fancy  resolves  itself  into  poignant  unforget 
table  drama.  .  .  .  One  renews  acquaint 
ance  with  the  spiritual  fervor  and  with  a  fine 
rich  imagery — which  is  the  gift  of  only  the 
truly  inspired  poet. — The  Springfield  (Mass.) 
Homestead. 

Americans  of  to-day  are  proud  of  Cale 
Young  Rice's  poems,  and  lovers  of  poetry  else 
where  must  admire  their  free  play  of  imagina 
tion  and  their  many  felicities  of  lyrical  form. — 
The  Scotsman  (Edinburgh). 

Critics  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic  have 
always  been  lavish  in  their  praises  of  Mr. 


Rice's  work,  both  for  its  inherent  charm  and 
universality  of  thought.  .  .  .  "Submarine 
Mountains"  is  a  gem  of  purest  ray,  and  almost 
all  the  other  poems  are  equally  good. — The 
San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

Mr.  Rice  has  given  us  nothing  more  worth 
while  than  this  splendid  expression  of  his 
genius.— The  Bu/alo  (N.  F.)  Courier. 

"At  The  World's  Heart"  will  ably  sustain 
Mr.  Rice's  reputation.  .  .  .  It  is  a  worthy 
successor  of  his  former  works. — The  Boston 
Times. 

Mr.  Rice  has  no  metred  praise  for — sensual 
ity,  quackery,  pretence.  .  .  .  He  seeks 
the  ideas  that  are  eternal  and  expresses  them 
in  faultless  language. — The  Argonaut  (San 
Francisco] . 

Mr.  Rice's  freedom  and  force  remain  un 
abated.  .  .  .  Nothing  is  alien  to  him. 
.  .  .  His  verse  ranges  all  lands. — The  Hart 
ford  (Conn.}  C  our  ant. 

Mr.  Rice's  genius  and  temperament  are 
cosmic  and  cosmopolitan. — The  Rochester  (N. 
F.)  Post-Express. 

Cale  Young  Rice  has  indeed  the  sympathetic 
imagination  and  not  infrequently  a  touch  of 
the  sublime — rare  in  poets  of  any  tongue. 
Such  poems  as  [several  mentioned]  cannot 


easily  be  matched  in  English  poetry,  old  or  new. 
— Vogue. 

Cale  Young  Rice  has  captivated  the  most 
severe  critics  of  Great  Britain  as  well  as  in  his 
own  land.  .  .  .  He  is  a  poet  of  whom 
America  may  well  be  proud. — Portland  (Ore.) 

Evening  Telegram. 

Some  poets  can  sing  of  their  own  land  only; 
others  have  been  content  to  immortalize  a 
little  corner  of  the  wide  earth;  and  a  few  have 
been  able  to  wing  their  way  from  clime  to 
clime  and  feel  equally  at  home  in  the  present 
or  the  past.  In  this  last  mentioned  class  Mr. 
Rice  naturally  finds  a  place.  .  .  .  We  dis 
cover  in  him  a  variety  of  theme  and  treatment 
such  as  few  poets  can  offer.  .  .  .  His 
verse  is  as  bracing  as  the  sea  of  which  he  sings 
with  such  fervor  and  understanding. — The 
Book  News  Monthly  (Albert  S.  Henry}. 

Elsewhere  Mr.  Henry  ranks  Mr.  Rice  first 
of  all  living  poetic  dramatists. 


I 


PORZIA 

By 

CALE  YOUNG  RICE 

T  PRESENTS  a  last  phase  of  the  Renais 
sance  with  great  effect."    Sir  Sydney  Lee. 


" '  Porzia '  is  a  very  romantic  and  beauti 
ful  thing.  After  a  third  reading  I  enjoy  and 
admire  it  still  more."  Gilbert  Murray. 

"There  are  certain  lyrical  qualities  in  the 
dramas  of  Cale  Young  Rice  and  certain  dra 
matic  qualities  in  many  of  his  finest  lyrics 
that  make  it  very  difficult  for  the  critic  to 
resolve  whether  he  is  highest  as  singer  or 
dramatist.  ' Porzia'  is  a  poetic  play  in  which 
these  two  gifts  blend  with  subtle  and  powerful 
effectiveness.  It  is  not  written  in  stereotyped 
heroic  verse,  but  in  sensitive  metrical  lines 
that  vary  in  beat  and  measure  with  the 
strength,  the  tenderness,  the  anguish,  bitter 
ness  and  passion  of  love  or  hate  they  have  to 
express.  The  bizarre  and  poignant  central 
incident  on  which  the  action  of  '  Porzia '  turns 
is  such  as  would  have  appealed  irresistibly 
to  the  imagination  and  dramatic  instincts 
of  the  great  Elizabethan  dramatists,  and  Mr. 
Rice  has  developed  it  with  a  force  and  imagina 
tive  beauty  that  they  alone  could  have 
equaled  and  with  a  restraint  and  delicacy  of 
touch  which  makes  pitiful  and  beautiful  a 


story  they  would  have  clothed  in  horror. 
...  He  turns  what  might  have  been  a 
tragic  close  to  something  that  is  loftier  and 
more  moving.  ...  It  matters  little  that 
we  hesitate  between  ranking  Mr.  Rice  highest 
as  dramatist  or  lyrist;  what  matters  is  that 
he  has  the  faculty  divine  beyond  any  living 
poet  of  America;  his  inspiration  is  true,  and 
his  poetry  is  the  real  thing."  The  London 
Bookman. 

"'Porzia'  has  the  swift  human  movement 
which  Mr.  Rice  puts  into  his  dramas,  and 
technique  of  a  very  high  order.  .  .  .  The 
dramatic  form  is  the  most  difficult  to  sustain 
harmoniously  and  this  -Mr.  Rice  always 
achieves."  The  Baltimore  News. 

"To  the  making  of  'Porzia'  Mr.  Rice  has 
summoned  all  the  resources  of  his  dramatic 
skill.  On  the  constructive  side  it  is  particu 
larly  strong.  .  .  .  The  opening  scene  is 
certainly  one  of  the  happiest  Mr.  Rice  has 
written,  while  the  climaxing  third  act  is  a 
brilliant  piece  of  character  study  .... 
The  play  is  rich  in  poetry;  .  .  in  it  Mr. 
Rice  has  scored  another  success  ...  hi 
a  field  where  work  of  permanent  value  is 
rarely  achieved."  Albert  S.  Henry  (The 
Book  News  Monthly). 

"Mr.  Rice  apes  neither  the  high-flown  style 
of  the  Elizabethans,  nor  the  turgid  and  cryptic 


style  of  Browning  .  .  .  'Porzia'  should 
attract  the  praise  of  all  who  wish  to  see  real 
literature  written  in  this  country  again." 
The  Covington  (Ky.)  Post. 

"The  complete  mastery  of  technique,  the 
dignity  and  dramatic  force  of  the  characters, 
the  beauty  of  the  language  and  clear  directness 
of  the  style  together  with  the  vivid  imagina 
tion  needed  to  portray  so  strikingly  the 
renaissance  spirit  and  atmosphere,  make  the 
work  one  that  should  last."  The  Springfield 
(Mass.)  Homestead. 

"It  is  not  unjust  to  say  that  Cale  Young 
Rice  holds  hi  America  the  position  that 
Stephen  Phillips  holds  in  England."  The 
Scotsman  (Edinburgh). 

"Had  no  other  poetic  drama  than  this  been 
written  in  America,  there  would  be  hope  for 
the  future  of  poetry  on  the  stage."  John  G. 
Neihardt  (The  Minneapolis  Journal). 


(C  t 


Porzia '  is  a  very  beautiful  play.  The 
spiritual  uplift  at  the  end  thrilled  me  deeply," 
Minnie  Maddern  Fiske. 

Net,  $1.25  (postage  12  c.) 


FAR  QUESTS 

CALE  YOUNG  RICE 

THE   countrymen   of  Cale  Young   Rice 
apparently  regard  him  as  the  equal  of 
the  great  American  poets  of  the  past. 
Far  Quests  is  good  unquestionably.     It 
shows  a  wide  range  of  thought,  and  sympathy, 
and  real  skill  in  workmanship,  while  occasion 
ally  it  rises  to  heights  of  simplicity  and  truth, 
that  suggest  such  inspiration  as  should  mean 
lasting  fame. —  The  Daily  Telegraph  (London). 

"Mr.  Rice's  lyrics  are  deeply  impressive. 
A  large  number  are  complete  and  full-blooded 
works  of  art." — Prof.  Wm.  Lyon  Phelps  (Yale 
University). 

"Far  Quests  contains  much  beautiful  work — 
the  work  of  a  real  poet  in  imagination  and 
achievement." — Prof.  J.  W.  Mackail  (Oxford 
University). 

"Mr.  Rice  is  determined  to  get  away  from 
local  or  national  limitations  and  be  at  what 
ever  cost  universal.  .  .  .  These  poems 
are  always  animated  by  a  force  and  freshness 
of  feeling  rare  in  work  of  such  high  virtu 
osity." — The  Scotsman  (Edinburgh). 

"Mr.  Cale  Young  Rice  is  acknowledged  by 
his  countrymen  to  be  one  of  their  great  poets. 


There  is  great  charm  in  his  nature  songs  (of 
this  volume)  and  in  his  songs  of  the  East. 
Mr.  Rice  writes  with  great  simplicity  and 
beauty."  -  —  The  Sphere  (London). 

Mr.  Rice's  forte  is  poetic  drama.  Yet  in 
the  act  of  saying  this  the  critic  is  confronted 
by  such  poems  as  The  Mystic  .  .  .  These 
are  the  poems  of  a  thinker,  a  man  of  large 
horizons,  an  optimist  profoundly  impressed 
with  the  pathos  of  man's  quest  for  happiness 
in  all  lands." —  The  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

"  Mr.  Rice's  latest  volume  shows  no  diminu- 
ition  of  poetic  power.  Fecundity  is  a  mark 
of  the  genuine  poet,  and  a  glance  through 
these  pages  will  demonstrate  how  rich  Mr. 
Rice  is  in  vitality  and  variety  of  thought 

.  .  There  is  too,  the  unmistakable  qual 
ity  of  style.  It  is  spontaneous,  flexible,  and 
strong  with  the  strength  of  simplicity  —  a  style 
of  rare  distinction. — Albert  S.  Henry,  (The 
Book  News  Monthly,  Philadelphia}. 

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THE  IMMORTAL  LURE 

CALE  YOUNG  RICE 

It  is  great  art  —  with  great  vitality. 

James  Lane  Allen. 

In  the  midst  of  the  Spring  rush  there  arrives  one 
book  for  which  all  else  is  pushed  aside  .  .  .  We 
have  been  educated  to  the  belief  that  a  man  must  be 
long  dead  before  he  can  be  enrolled  with  the  great 
ones.  Let  us  forget  this  cruel  teaching  .  .  .  This 
volume  contains  four  poetic  dramas  all  different  in 
setting,  and  all  so  beautiful  that  we  cannot  choose 
one  more  perfect  than  another.  .  .  .  Too  extra 
vagant  praise  cannot  be  given  Mr.  Rice. 

The  San  Francisco  Call. 

Four  brief  dramas,  different  from  Paola  &  Francesca, 
but  excelling  it — or  any  other  of  Mr.  Phillips's  work,  it 
is  safe  to  say  —  in  a  vivid  presentment  of  a  supreme 
moment  in  the  lives  of  the  characters  .  .  .  They 
form  excellent  examples  of  the  range  of  Mr.  Rice's 
genius  in  this  field.  The  New  York  Times  Review* 

Mr.  Rice  is  quite  the  most  ambitious,  and  most 
distinguished  of  contemporary  poetic  dramatists  in 
America.  The  Boston  Transcript  (W.  S.  Braithwaite.) 

The  vigor  and  originality  of  Mr.  Rice's  work  never 
outweigh  that  first  qualification,  beauty  ...  No 
American  writer  has  so  enriched  the  body  of  our  poetic 
literature  in  the  past  few  years. 

The  New  Orleans  Picayune. 

Mr.  Rice  is  beyond  doubt  the  most  distinguished 
poetic  dramatist  America  has  yet  produced. 

The  Detroit  Free  Press. 

That  in  Cale  Young  Rice  a  new  American  poet 
of  great  power  and  originality  has  arisen  cannot  be 
denied.  He  has  somehow  discovered  the  secret 
of  the  mystery,  wonder  and  spirituality  of  human 


existence,  which  has  been  all  but  lost  in  our  commer 
cial  civilization.  May  he  succeed  in  awakening  our 
people  from  sordid  dreams  of  gain. 

Rochester  (N.  Y.  }  Post  Express. 

^No  writer  in  England  or  America  holds  himself  to 
higher  ideals  (than  Mr.  Rice)  and  everything  he  does 
bears  the  imprint  of  exquisite  taste  and  the  finest 
poetic  instinct.  The  Portland  Oregonian. 

In  simplicity  of  art  form  and  sheer  mystery  of 
romanticism  these  poetic  dramas  embody  the  new 
century  artistry  that  is  remaking  current  imaginative 
literature.  The  Philadelphia  North  American. 

Cale  Young  Rice  is  justly  regarded  as  the  leading 
master  of  the  difficult  form  of  poetic  drama. 

Portland  (Me.}  Press. 

Mr.  Rice  has  outlived  the  prophesy  that  he  would 
one  day  rival  Stephen  Phillips  in  the  poetic  drama. 
As  dexterous  in  the  mechanism  of  his  art,  the  young 
American  is  the  Englishman's  superior  in  that  unforced 
quality  which  bespeaks  true  inspiration,  and  in  a  wider 
variety  of  manner  and  theme. 

San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

Mr.  Rice's  work  has  often  been  compared  to  Stephen 
Phillips's  and  there  is  great  resemblance  in  their  ex 
pression  of  high  vision.  Mr.  Rice's  technique  is  sure 
.  .  .  his  knowledge  of  his  settings  impeccable,  and 
one  feels  sincerely  the  passion,  power  and  sensuous 
beauty  of  the  whole.  "Arduin"(one  of  the  plays) 
is  perfect  tragedy;  as  rounded  as  a  sphere,  as  terrible 
as  death.  Review  of  Reviews. 

The  Immortal  Lure  is  a  very  beautiful  work. 

The  Springfield  (Mass.}  Republican. 

The  action  in  Mr.  Rice's  dramas  is  invariably 
compact  and  powerful,  his  writing  remarkably  forcible 
and  clear,  with  a  rare  grasp  of  form.  The  plays  are 
brief  and  classic.  Baltimore  News. 


These  four  dramas,  each  a  separate  unit  perfect 
in  itself  and  differing  widely  in  treatment,  are  yet 
vitally  related  by  reason  of  the  one  central  theme, 
wrought  out  with  rich  imagery  and  with  compelling 
dramatic  power.  The  Louisville  Times  (U.  S.) 

The  literary  and  poetical  merit  of  these  dramas  is 
undeniable,  and  they  are  charged  with  the  emotional 
life  and  human  interest  that  should,  but  do  not,  al 
ways  go  along  with  those  other  high  gifts. 

The  (London)  Bookman. 

Mr.  Rice  never  [like  Stephen  Phillips]  mistakes 
strenuous  phrase  for  strong  thought.  He  makes  his 
blank  verse  his  servant,  and  it  has  the  stage  merit  of 
possessing  the  freedom  of  prose  while  retaining  the 
impassioned  movement  of  poetry. 

The  Glasgow  (Scotland)  Herald. 

These  firm  and  vivid  pieces  of  work  are  truly  wel 
come  as  examples  of  poetic  force  that  succeeds  with 
out  the  help  of  poetic  license. 

The  Literary  World  (London.) 

We  do  not  possess  a  living  American  poet  whose 
utterance  is  so  clear,  so  felicitous,  so  free  from  the 
inane  and  meretricious  folly  of  sugared  lines.  .  .  . 
No  one  has  a  better  understanding  of  the  development 
of  dramatic  action  than  Mr.  Rice. 

The  Book  News  Monthly  (Albert  S.  Henry.) 

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MANY  GODS 

By 

CALE  YOUNG  RICE 

r  •  ^HESE  poems  are  flashingly,  glowingly 
full  of  the  East.  .  .  .  What  I 
am  sure  of  in  Mr.  Rice  is  that  here 

we  have  an  American  poet  whom  we  may 

claim  as  ours."     The  North  American  Review 

(William  Dean  Howells). 

"Mr.  Rice  has  the  gift  of  leadership.     . 
and  he  is  a  force  with  whom  we  must  reckon." 
The  Boston  Transcript. 

.  .  .  "We  find  here  a  poet  who  strives 
to  reach  the  goal  which  marks  the  best  that 
can  be  done  in  poetry."  The  Book  News 
Monthly  (A.  S.  Henry). 

"When  you  hear  the  pessimists  bewailing 
the  good  old  time  when  real  poets  were  abroad 
in  the  land  ...  do  not  fail  to  quote 
them  almost  anything  by  Cale  Young  Rice, 
a  real  poet  writing  to-day.  ...  He  has 
done  so  much  splendid  work  one  can  scarcely 
praise  him  too  highly."  The  San  Francisco 
Call. 

"'In  Many  Gods'  the  scenes  are  those  of 
the  East,  and  while  it  is  not  the  East  of 
Loti,  Arnold  or  Hearn,  it  is  still  a  place  of 


brooding,  majesty,  mystery  and  subtle  fasci 
nation.  There  is  a  temptation  to  quote 
such  verses  for  their  melody,  dignity  of  form, 
beauty  of  imagery  and  height  of  inspiration." 
I  he  Chicago  Journal. 

"'Love's  Cynic'  (a  long  poem  in  the  vol 
ume)  might  be  by  Browning  at  his  best." 
Pittsburg  Gazette-Times. 

"This  is  a  serious,  and  from  any  standpoint, 
a  successful  piece  of  work  ...  in  it 
are  poems  that  will  become  classic."  Passaic 
(New  Jersey)  News. 

^  "Mr.  Rice  must  be  hailed  as  one  among 
living  masters  of  his  art,  one  to  whom  we  may 
look  for  yet  greater  things."  Presbyterian 
Advance. 

"This  book  is  in  many  respects  a  remark 
able  work.  The  poems  are  indeed  poems." 
The  Nashville  Banner. 

"Mr.  Rice's  poetical  plays  reach  a  high 
level  of  achievement.  .  .  .  But  these 
poems  show  a  higher  vision  and  surer  mastery 
of  expression  than  ever  before."  The  London 
Bookman. 

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NIRVANA  DAYS 

Poems  by 

CALE  YOUNG  RICE 

MR.   RICE  has  the  technical  cunning 
that   makes   up    almost    the  entire 
equipment  of  many  poets  nowadays, 
but  human  nature  is  more  to  him  always 
.     .     .     and  he  has  the  feeling  and  imagina 
tive  sympathy  without  which  all  poetry  is 
but  an  empty  and  vain  thing."     The  London 
Bookman. 

"Mr.  Rice's  note  is  a  clarion  call,  and  of  his 
two  poems,  'The  Strong  Man  to  His  Sires'  and 
The  Young  to  the  Old,'  the  former  will  send 
a  thrill  to  the  heart  of  every  man  who  has  the 
instinct  of  race  in  his  blood,  while  the  latter 
should  be  printed  above  the  desk  of  every 
minor  poet  and  pessimist.  .  .  .  The  son 
nets  of  the  sequence,  'Quest  and  Requital,' 
have  the  elements  of  great  poetry  in  them." 
The  Glasgow  (Scotland}  Herald. 

"Mr.  Rice's  poems  are  singularly  free  from 
affectation,  and  he  seems  to  have  written  be 
cause  of  the  sincere  need  of  expressing  some 
thing  that  had  to  take  art  form."  The  Sun 
(New  York). 

"The  ability  to  write  verse  that  scans  is 
quite  common.  .  .  .  But  the  inspired 
thought  behind  the  lines  is  a  different 


thing;  and  it  is  this  thought  untrammeled 
—  the  clear  vision  searching  into  the  deeps 
of  human  emotion  —  which  gives  the  verse 
of  Mr.  Rice  weight  and  potency.  ...  In 
the  range  of  his  metrical  skill  he  easily  stands 
with  the  best  of  living  craftsmen  .  .  . 
and  we  have  in  him  ...  a  poet  whose 
dramas  and  lyrics  will  endure."  The  Book 
News  Monthly  (A.  S.  Henry). 

"These  poems  are  marked  by  a  breadth 
of  outlook,  individuality  and  beauty  of 
thought.  The  author  reveals  deep,  sincere 
feeling  on  topics  which  do  not  readily  lend 
themselves  to  artistic  expression  and  which 
he  makes  eminently  worth  while."  The 
Buffalo  (N.  F.)  Courier. 

"We  get  throughout  the  idea  of  a  vast 
universe  and  of  the  soul  merging  itself  in  the 
infinite.  .  .  .  The  great  poem  of  the 
volume,  however,  is  'The  Strong  Man  to  His 
Sires.'"  The  Louisville  Post  (Margaret  S. 
A  nderson) . 

"The  poems  possess  much  music  .  .  . 
and  even  in  the  height  of  intensified  feeling 
the  clearness  of  Mr.  Rice's  ideas  is  not  dimmed 
by  the  obscure  haze  that  too  often  goes  with 
the  divine  fire."  The  Boston  Globe. 

Paper  boards.     Net,  $1.25  (postage  120.) 


A  NIGHT  IN  AVIGNON 

By 

CALE  YOUNG  RICE 

Successfully  produced  by  Donald  Robertson 

IT  IS  as  vivid  as  a  page  from  Browning. 
Mr.  Rice  has  the  dramatic  pulse." 
James  Huneker. 

"It  embraces  in  small  compass  all  the 
essentials  of  the  drama.  New  York  Saturday 
Times  Review  (Jessie  B.  Rittenhouse). 

"It  presents  one  of  the  most  striking 
situations  in  dramatic  literature  and  its 
climax  could  not  be  improved."  The  San 
Francisco  Call. 

"It  has  undeniable  power,  and  is  a  very 
decided  poetic  achievement."  The  Boston 
Transcript. 

"It  leaves  an  enduring  impression  of  a 
soul  tragedy."  The  Churchman. 

"Since  the  publication  of  his  'Charles  di 
Tocca'  and  other  dramas,  Cale  Young  Rice 
has  justly  been  regarded  as  a  leading  Ameri 
can  master  of  that  difficult  form,  and  many 
critics  have  ranked  him  above  Stephen 
Phillips,  at  least  on  the  dramatic  side  of  his 
art.  And  this  judgment  is  further  confirmed 
by  'A  Night  in  Avignon/  It  is  almost  in 
credible  that  in  less  than  500  lines  Mr.  Rice 
should  have  been  able  to  create  so  perfect  a 


play  with  so  powerful  a  dramatic  effect."  The 
Chicago  Record-Herald  (Edwin  S.  Shuman) 

"There  is  poetic  richness  in  this  brilliant 
composition;  a  beauty  of  sentiment  and 
grace  in  every  line.  It  is  impressive,  metri 
cally  pleasing  and  dramatically  powerful." 
The  Philadelphia  Record. 

"It  offers  one  of  the  most  striking  situa 
tions  in  dramatic  literature."  The  Louisville 
Courier- Journal. 

"The  publication  of  a  poetic  drama  of  the 
quality  of  Mr.  Rice's  is  an  important  event 
in  the  present  tendency  of  American  litera 
ture.  He  is  a  leader  in  this  most  significant 
movement,  and  'A  Night  in  Avignon'  is 
marked,  like  his  other  plays,  by  dramatic 
directness,  high  poetic  fervor,  clarity  of 
poetic  diction,  and  felicity  of  phrasing." 
The  Chicago  Journal. 

"It  is  a  dramatically  told  episode,  and  the 
metre  is  most  effectively  handled,  making 
a  welcome  change  for  blank  verse,  and  greatly 
enhancing  the  interest."  Sydney  Lee. 

"Many  critics,    on    hearing    Mr.    Bryce's 
prediction  that  America  will  one  day  have  a 
poet,  would  be  tempted  to  remind  him  of 
Mr.  Rice."     The  Hartford  (Conn.)  Courant. 
Net  SQC.  (postage  $c.) 


YOLANDA  OF  CYPRUS 

A  Poetic  Drama  by 

CALE  YOUNG  RICE 


i 


T  HAS  real  life  and  drama,  not  merely 
beautiful  words,  and  so  differs  from  the 
great  mass  of  poetic  plays. 

Prof.  Gilbert  Murray. 

Minnie  Maddern  Fisk  says:  "No  one  can 
doubt  that  it  is  superior  poetically  and 
dramatically  to  Stephen  Phillips's  work," 
and  that  Mr.  Rice  ranks  with  Mr.  Phillips 
at  his  best  has  often  been  reaffirmed. 

"It  is  encouraging  to  the  hope  of  a  native 

drama  to  know  that  an  American  has  written 

a  play  which  is  at  the  same  time  of  decided 

poetic  merit  and  of  decided  dramatic  power. " 

The  New  York  Times. 

"The  most  remarkable  quality  of  the  play 
is  its  sustained  dramatic  strength.  Poetically 
it  is  frequently  of  great  beauty.  It  is  also 
lofty  in  conception,  lucid  and  felicitous  in 
style,  and  the  dramatic  pulse  throbs  in  every 
line."  The  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

"The  characters  are  drawn  with  force  and 
the  play  is  dignified  and  powerful,"  and  adds 
that  if  it  does  not  succeed  on  the  stage  it 
will  be  "because  of  its  excellence. " 

The  Springfield  Republican. 


"Mr.  Rice  is  one  of  the  few  present-day 
poets  who  have  the  steadiness  and  weight  for 
a  well-sustained  drama." 

The  Louisville  Post  (Margaret  Anderson). 

"It  has  equal  command  of  imagination, 
dramatic  utterance,  picturesque  effectiveness 
and  metrical  harmony. " 

The  London  (England)  Bookman. 

T.  P:S  Weekly  says:  "It  might  well  stand 
the  difficult  test  of  production  and  will  be 
welcomed  by  all  who  care  for  serious  verse. " 

The  Glasgow  (Scotland)  Herald  says:  "Yo- 
landa  of  Cyprus  is  finely  constructed;  the 
irregular  blank  verse  admirably  adapted  for 
the  exigencies  of  intense  emotion;  the  char 
acters  firmly  drawn;  and  the  climax  serves 
the  purpose  of  good  stagecraft  and  poetic 
justice. " 

"It  is  well  constructed  and  instinct  with 
dramatic  power."  Sydney  Lee. 

"It  is  as  readable  as  a  novel. " 

The  Pittsburg  Post. 

"Here  and  there  an  almost  Shakespearean 
note   is    struck.     In    makeup,    arrangement, 
and  poetic  intensity  it  ranks  with  Stephen 
Phillips's  work. "     The  Book  News  Monthly. 
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Comma- tire    fW]     THEWOHID'SWOHK    (S\    TraGAionar 
IN  AMERICA      \^^  ^>^^      MACAZCKK 

DOUBLEDAY.  PAGE  &  CO.,  GARDEN  CITY,  N.  Y. 


DAVID 

A  Poetic  Drama  by 

CALE  YOUNG  RICE 

1WAS  greatly  impressed  with  it  and  de 
rived  a  sense  of  personal  encouragement 
from  the  evidence  of  so  fine  and  lofty 
a  product  for  the  stage."     Richard  Mansfield. 

"It  is  a  powerful  piece  of  dramatic  por 
traiture  in  which  Cale  Young  Rice  has  again 
demonstrated  his  insight  and  power.  What 
he  did  before  in  ' Charles  di  Tocca'  he  has 
repeated  and  improved  upon.  .  .  .  Not 
a  few  instances  of  his  strength  might  be 
cited  as  of  almost  Shakespearean  force. 
Indeed  the  strictly  literary  merit  of  the  tragedy 
is  altogether  extraordinary.  It  is  a  con 
tribution  to  the  drama  full  of  charm  and 
power."  The  Chicago  Tribune. 

"From  the  standpoint  of  poetry,  dignity 
of  conception,  spiritual  elevation  and  finish 
and  beauty  of  line,  Mr.  Rice's  'David'  is, 
perhaps,  superior  to  his  'Yolanda  of  Cyprus,' 
but  the  two  can  scarcely  be  compared." 
The  New  York  Times  (Jessie  B.  Rittenhouse) . 

"Never  before  has  the  theme  received  treat 
ment  in  a  manner  so  worthy  of  it."  The 
St.  Louis  Globe-Democrat. 


"It  needs  but  a  word,  for  it  has  been  passed 
upon  and  approved  by  critics  all  over  the 
country."  Book  News  Monthly.  And  again: 
"But  few  recent  writers  seem  to  have  found 
the  secret  of  dramatic  blank  verse;  and  of 
that  small  number,  Mr.  Rice  is,  if  not  first, 
at  least  without  superior." 

"With  instinctive  dramatic  and  poetic 
power,  Mr.  Rice  combines  a  knowledge  of 
the  exigencies  of  the  stage."  Harper's 
Weekly. 

"It  is  safe  to  say  that  were  Mr.  Rice  an 
Englishman  or  a  Frenchman,  his  reputation 
as  his  country's  most  distinguished  poetic 
dramatist  would  have  been  assured  by  a 
more  universal  sign  of  recognition.  The 
Baltimore  News  (writing  of  all  Mr.  Rice's 
plays) . 


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CHARLES  DI  TOCCA 

By 

CALE  YOUNG  RICE 

I  TAKE   off   my   hat   to   Mr.    Rice.    His 
play  is  full  of  poetry,  and  the  pitch  and 
dignity  of  the  whole  are  remarkable." 
James  Lane  Allen. 

"It  is  a  dramatic  poem  one  reads  with  a 
heightened  sense  of  its  fine  quality  through 
out.  It  is  sincere,  strong,  finished  and  noble, 
and  sustains  its  distinction  of  manner  to  the 
end.  .  .  .  The  character  of  Helena  is 
not  unworthy  of  any  of  the  great  masters  of 
dramatic  utterance."  The  Chicago  Tribune. 

"The  drama  is  one  of  the  best  of  the  kind 
ever  written  by  an  American  author.  Its 
whole  tone  is  masterful,  and  it  must  be  classed 
as  one  of  the  really  literary  works  of  the 
season."  (1903).  The  Milwaukee  Sentinel. 

"It  shows  a  remarkable  sense  of  dramatic 
construction  as  well  as  poetic  power  and 
strong  characterization."  James  Mac  Arthur, 
in  Harper's  Weekly. 

"This  play  has  many  elements  of  perfection. 
Its  plot  is  developed  with  ease  and  with  a  large 
dramatic  force;  its  characters  are  drawn  with 
sympathy  and  decision;  and  its  thoughts 


rise  to  a  very  real  beauty.  By  reason  of  it 
the  writer  has  gained  an  assured  place  among 
playwrights  who  seek  to  give  literary  as  well 
as  dramatic  worth  to  their  plays."  The 
Richmond  (Va.)  News-Leader. 

"The  action  of  the  play  is  admirably  com 
pact  and  coherent,  and  it  contains  tragic 
situations  which  will  afford  pleasure  not  only 
to  the  student,  but  to  the  technical  reader." 
The  Nation. 

"It  is  the  most  powerful,  vital,  and  truly 
tragical  drama  written  by  an  American  for 
some  years.  There  is  genuine  pathos,  mighty 
yet  never  repellent  passion,  great  sincerity 
and  penetration,  and  great  elevation  and 
beauty  of  language."  The  Chicago  Post. 

"Mr.  Rice  ranks  among  America's  choicest 
poets  on  account  of  his  power  to  turn  music 
into  words,  his  virility,  and  of  the  fact  that  he 
has  something  of  his  own  to  say."  The  Boston 
Globe. 

"The  whole  play  breathes  forth  the  inde 
finable  spirit  of  the  Italian  renaissance.  In 
poetic  style  and  dramatic  treatment  it  is 
a  work  of  art."  The  Baltimore  Sun. 

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SONG-SURF 

(Being  the  Lyrics  of  Plays  and  Lyrics)  by 

CALE  YOUNG  RICE 

MR.  RICE'S  work  betrays  wide  sym 
pathies  with  nature  and  life,  and  a 
welcome  originality  of  sentiment  and 
metrical  harmony."     Sydney  Lee. 

"In  his  lyrics  Mr.  Rice's  imagination  works 
most  successfully.  He  is  an  optimist  —  and 
in  these  days  an  optimist  is  irresistible  — 
and  he  can  touch  delicately  things  too  holy 
for  a  rough  or  violent  pathos."  The  London 
Star  (James  Douglas). 

"Mr.  Rice's  highest  gift  is  essentially 
lyrical.  His  lyrics  have  a  charm  and  grace 
of  melody  distinctively  their  own."  The 
London  Bookman. 

"Mr.  Rice  is  keenly  responsive  to  the 
loveliness  of  the  outside  world,  and  he  re 
veals  this  beauty  in  words  that  sing  them 
selves."  The  Boston  Transcript. 

"Mr.  Rice's  work  is  everywhere  marked 
by  true  imaginative  power  and  elevation  of 
feeling."  The  Scotsman. 

"Mr.  Rice's  work  would  seem  to  rank  with 
the  best  of  our  American  poets  of  to-day." 
The  Atlanta  Constitution. 


"Mr.  Rice's  poems  are  touched  with  the 
magic  of  the  muse.  They  have  inspiration, 
grace  and  true  lyric  quality."  The  Book 
News  Monthly. 

"Mr.  Rice's  poetry  as  a  whole  is  both 
strongly  and  delicately  spiritual.  Many  of 
these  lyrics  have  the  true  romantic  mystery 
and  charm.  ...  To  write  thus  is  no 
indifferent  matter.  It  indicates  not  only  long 
work  but  long  brooding  on  the  beauty  and 
mystery  of  life."  The  Louisville  Post. 

"  Mr.  Rice  is  indisputably  one  of  the  greatest 
poets  who  have  lived  in  America.  .  .  . 
And  some  of  these  (earlier)  poems  are  truly 
beautiful.  The  Times-Union  (Albany,  N.  F.) 


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THE  COUNTRY  LIFE  PRESS 
GARDEN  CITY,  N.  Y. 


, 


|4Jan'56CT; 
»AY  4- 1956  L0 


CX/x/r 


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